


Send Me Thorns

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Brief non-sexual Dean/Benny, Character Development, Dom Dean Winchester, Enthusiastic Consent, Happy Ending, M/M, Masochism, Past Abuse, Restraints, Rope Bondage, S&M, Spanking, Sub Castiel (Supernatural), Sub Drop, Whipping, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 02:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 34,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21172001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: Castiel, an experienced masochistic submissive, meets Dean Winchester at a kink community meet & greet. He writes Dean off as cocky, presumptuous, and entirely not worth his time. But when Dean shows up as a new volunteer at the animal shelter that Cas runs, it seems like he might get a second chance to make a good first impression. Now it's up to Cas to face his demons and admit that there's more than meets the eye to Dean… and maybe to himself as well.





	1. Cocky

**Author's Note:**

> Woohooo!!! Welcome to my 2019 DeanCas Big Bang.
> 
> This story evolved out of a Twitter musing I had almost a year ago: What if I took Fifty Shades, made it gay, and turned it inside out - made the submissive the experienced partner, and the Dominant something of a novice? What if that Dominant had the same ill-conceived ideas about How to Dom that Christian Grey has, but the submissive was experienced enough to call him on his bullshit? What if the submissive is the teacher?...
> 
> From that, I bring you this. Breaking down the stigma of kink is something of a personal mission for me - while Cas isn't a complete "Mary Sue" there are personal elements in this story from my own experiences as a submissive. In particular, the idea of what makes a "good Dominant" and what makes a "good submissive" and what makes a good match are skewed in the mainstream, and I like to think of this story - and other fic that I post - as my own little way of trying to break those stereotypes and shine a light on the truth.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my amazing artist, Danielle, for helping me make this story something worth reading. [Check her out on tumblr](https://danielledastis.tumblr.com/)! Also a HUGE thanks to my beta, Kayla, without whom I was occasionally TOTALLY lost, and to the Cockles ladies for your encouragement and occasional brainstorming over the past months. I love you all.
> 
> OK! On with the show!

Castiel hated being the new guy.

He hated being sized up, hated the lingering glances, hated the way men who thought they knew what he wanted would try to court him by being completely obnoxious - more like a creeper or a bully than the Dom they purported to be. It’s why he didn’t date anymore, really. he just couldn’t stand the misguided judgement when he presented himself for what he truly was: A well-trained, obedient submissive with a soft heart and an inner twink that needed feeding every now and then. They seemed to get that part, he supposed. What they misjudged was his self confidence to walk away from any situation where he didn’t think he’d come away satisfied.

For some reason, men had gotten it into their heads that submissiveness meant unquestioned obedience, and for Cas to be anything other than that meant he was a brat in need of a spanking. Castiel loathed that attitude more than he loathed most things, including spiders, ninety-five percent humidity, and people who microwaved fish at work.

So, yeah. He’d had a few casual flings to scratch the itch, but it had been years since he’d been on a real date, and even longer since he’d knelt before a man he called _ his _ Dominant.

And now he’d uprooted his life and settled in Lawrence, Kansas, after nearly a decade of post-graduate education in California. Thirty-two years old, in possession of a shiny new dual Masters in Humanities and Business, and plucked from everything he’d ever known to step in as the new Executive Director for the local humane society. OK - not _ plucked _. Plucked was the wrong word, because he could have turned down the offer. But he hadn’t. He’d made a choice, and here he was, setting himself up for long, cold winters and longer, hotter summers.

And a kink scene that had him seriously questioning his life choices.

He’d checked the community out on Fetlife beforehand, because he was no dummy. He’d been in Kansas almost a month, was settled into a comfortable apartment and starting to get into the groove of his job, when he decided that maybe he needed to make some local friends. Friends who understood him, friends with similar proclivities. 

There was a mixer on the first Friday of every month at a Mexican restaurant not far from Cas’ apartment. He learned that in his first week in Lawrence. The difficulty was actually sucking up his dislike for starting over. Six weeks after moving in, he sighed, dressed in khaki shorts and a blue button-down over a white tee, and ventured outside.

It was way too hot to only be June, so he drove when he very well could have walked, grumbling all the while about global warming and how they were all fucking doomed anyway, so why not get them there faster.

The mixer was very much like every other kink community mixer he’d ever been to, but spun for the moderate Midwesterner rather than the liberal out-and-proud community he’d left behind in Los Angeles. At first glance, the crowd ranged in age from early 30s to probably pushing 70. They were gathered at a single long table toward the back of the restaurant, away from most other diners. 

Cas waved as he approached, eyebrows raised. “I’m new,” he said simply as he reached the table. There was an empty chair on the far left, so he took it before continuing. “Just moved here from LA.”

The waitress came around and he ordered a margarita on the rocks. A few minutes passed, and Castiel was content just to listen in on the conversations around him, trying to find his place. Just as the waitress was returning with his drink, the man on Cas’ right said casually, “So, LA, huh?”

Cas turned his body to face the speaker - and found himself drowning in the most gorgeous pair of green eyes he had ever seen. His lips parted on a response, but no words came out.

Green Eyes chuckled softly but didn’t shift his gaze.

A Dom. Green Eyes was a Dom, and he knew he had Cas on a hook. Already. _ Fuck _. Cas dug deep and found his resolve. “Yep,” was the best he could manage, but at least it was a reply, and a non-deferral one at that.

Green Eyes smirked. “Who in their right mind chooses Lawrence over LA? I mean, seriously.”

“Tell you the truth, I’ve been asking myself that ever since I got here,” Cas returned before he could stop himself, and Green Eyes finally looked away as he banged his hand on the table and let out a belly laugh. It made Cas’ stomach flip-flop in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and took a long sip of his margarita in an attempt to hold himself in check. “I came here for a job opportunity,” he elaborated, and mentally patted himself on the back when he was able to hold Green Eyes’ gaze on the delivery. “It was what I wanted to do, and the money was right… I couldn’t pass it up. Plus, LA rent is terrible.”

The joke made Green Eyes smile and nod. “I’ve heard. My brother went to Stanford Law; he had some buddies who’d done their undergrad and pre-law at UCLA. You didn’t go there by any chance, did you?”

“Guilty as charged.” Cas licked his lips and lowered his eyes in a way that might have been submissively flirty, if viewed through the right lens. Maybe he meant it to be. He had no idea, at this point. He just knew it had been a good long time since he’d been properly manhandled, and Green Eyes was approachable and clearly interested. 

Green Eyes just nodded. “Small world, huh?” It didn’t make a ton of sense in context, but Cas just sipped his margarita again and let it slide. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve been in Lawrence my whole life. Stick with me and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Hmmmm.” Cas nodded, giving consideration to the offer. “How long have you been coming to this event?” He waved his hand to indicate their surroundings.

Green Eyes gave a shrug. “Only my second time,” he admitted. “My friend Benny introduced me. He’s not here tonight, but he said it’s a great place to meet people, you know.” He paused, probably for effect, and his eyes twinkled as he finished, “_ In the life _.”

“And have you? Met anyone, I mean.”

“Eh…” Green Eyes faltered at that, waving his hand between them in a wishy-washy sort of motion. “Nobody who’s really hit all the right buttons.” He paused again, and when he next spoke, he was inexplicably leaning closer to Cas, and the volume of his voice had dropped several notches. “I gotta admit, I really do like talking to you, though.”

Cas drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Green Eyes’ cologne. When his eyes slid closed, he told himself it was a reflex and forced them back open. 

“I’m Dean,” Green Eyes said, extending his hand.

“Castiel,” Cas returned, and shook the proffered hand. One thing he was thankful for about the kink community was that they universally accepted his name without question. In Lawrence, just as it had been in LA, everyone just nodded and offered handshakes and words of warm welcome. “Castiel” probably didn’t even rank as the strangest name they’d heard, and many of them probably assumed it was a pseudonym.

He liked it that way.

“Castiel. Castiel… what do you say we get out of here, go make our own fun?”

“You have my attention.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully and leaned in close. “The backseat of my ‘67 Chevy is plenty big enough for two grown men to get up to second base, long as you’re a good boy and do as you’re told.”

The words, though delivered in a come-hither tone, washed over Cas like a bucket of cold water. He shook his head. “Yeah, how about no?”

“Oh, you wanna play like that, huh?”

And that did it, Green Eyes—Dean or whatever—dropped about ten hotness points, and Cas lost whatever literal or figurative boner he might’ve started to develop for the guy. “No,” he said, standing up, “I don’t want to _ play like that _. In fact, I don’t want to play with you at all.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and left the restaurant, leaving his half-finished margarita behind, and wondering all the while why he’d bothered coming in the first place.


	2. Not the Right Pet For You

“Hey, Cas! Do you mind giving Ms. Blake a hand with the paperwork for Rufus, here? I’ve got my hands full.” The call from Charlie, his Care Enrichment Associate, pulled Cas’ attention out of the grant spreadsheet open on his desktop. He stood and headed out of his office, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the scene that met his eyes. 

“That you do.” He chuckled and took Rufus (a mutt with the build of a bull terrier but with half the bulk and probably some beagle, by his coloring) by his leash to lend Charlie the extra hand she needed to wrangle the young lab mix who was yipping at her heels. “I got ‘im. Oh, don’t be such a grump,” Cas said to the dog, and then turned his charming smile on the woman in front of him while Charlie leashed and kenneled the younger pup. “So, you’re interested in Rufus?” He asked, giving the dog’s clipboard a once-over.

“I think so.” She sounded like every other excited new pet-parent he’d ever met, her voice a notch too high as she bent down and petted Rufus’ face affectionately. “We weren’t sure at first; he came off a little rough around the edges, but it turned out his bark was way worse than his bite.” 

The dog licked at her face, making her grin and kiss his nose— that was about as sure a sign of a good match as Cas had ever seen. “All right then. Why don’t you both come into my office, and we can take care of your adoption paperwork and get him ready to head home.”

“You’re the new director, aren’t you?” Cas nodded as they reached his office, which had a name plate indicating as much. He ushered Sarah and Rufus inside. “I’ve been volunteering here for years. It’s nice to see a director who’s hands-on like this. You know, out in the thick of it and not holed up in an office all day.”

“I much prefer people over paperwork, what can I say?” He flashed her a genuine smile before sliding the adoption forms across his desk and beginning the instructions on how she should fill them out.

Twenty minutes later, he gave Rufus one last pat on the head, shook Sarah Blake’s hand as he wished her well, and then saw her back out to the front door of the shelter.

Charlie was nowhere in sight, but there was a man standing at the desk, and when his eyes met Cas’, he smiled knowingly and wiggled his fingers in hello.

Cas tamped down the slight panic rising in his chest and pinned the man—Dean—with a glare. “I didn’t peg you for a stalker,” he said by way of greeting.

“Hey, I’m not—” Dean held up his hands, palms out. “Relax, OK? I mean, you’re a good lookin’ guy, don’t get me wrong. I would still love to hit that, but you said no, and I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a creeper. I came here on official business. I had no idea that this was your new job.” His brow creased. “You came all the way to Lawrence just to work at an animal shelter?”

“I’m the executive director,” Cas responded, lifting his chin.

“No kiddin’?” Dean sounded genuinely impressed, and Cas absolutely hated the way it awakened the butterflies in his stomach to have that tone and expression directed at him. “You run this whole place?”

“Yes.  _ Yes _ ,” he repeated more firmly when the first response came out quietly submissive and just barely missing a  _ Sir  _ at the end. “And if you don’t mind, I have work to do, so if there’s something I can help you with…?”

“Oh. Yeah. I… sorry.” Dean looked genuinely abashed, and for reasons he didn’t understand, it made Cas’ face flush hot. He fisted his hands at his sides and bit his lip.  _ Pull it together, Novak _ , he chastised himself as Dean fumbled in his pocket for something. “Hi. Dean Winchester. Checking in for my first volunteer shift. I’m supposed to talk to, uh…” He looked at the paper he’d pulled from his pocket. “You. Apparently.”

“Great. That’s just. Great.” He’d looked at the volunteer list this morning. He’d very clearly seen the name  _ Dean Winchester _ and the word  _ NEW  _ attached to it. And in fact, he distinctly remembered this man’s background check being returned, stamped approved by the state office. He’d given it to his volunteer coordinator, Jo, last week, and she’d arranged for Dean to come in today and put him on the schedule. Cas had overseen the entire transaction without ever once considering that the green-eyed asshole masquerading as a Dom that he’d met last Friday night would be the same Dean who’d show up as a certified, registered, approved volunteer dog walker.

In his mind, he added this to his mental list of all the reasons that moving to Kansas had been a huge mistake.

“So,” Dean said, rubbing his hands together as Castiel waved him in the direction he’d need to go in order to get the supplies he needed for his shift, “Castiel… that’s your real name, huh?”

“It’s my name, period.” He lead Dean down to the long hallway past staff offices to the kennels in the back, not bothering to stop as he reprimanded Dean’s misstep. “As far as the people here are concerned, we’ve never met before this, Dean.”

“Right. Sure. Well then. Nice to meet you, Castiel. My name’s Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and handsome blue-eyed—.”

Cas stopped abruptly and turned on his heel to face Dean, and the man behind him stumbled in his tracks. “Mr. Winchester,” he growled, his right pointer finger raised accusingly, “You are dangerously close to sexual harassment, so if I were you, I’d give strong consideration to what the next words out of my mouth were going to be.”

“Woah.” Cas raised his eyebrows. “I’m—” Dean sighed and dropped his gaze for a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“It’s just— you—” He glanced around, and then lowered his voice to a hushed whisper as he continued, “I thought we were really hitting it off, and then you just bailed. Bit of a cold-water splash. No one’s ever turned me down like that before.”

“Then it’s about time someone did. I’m glad to have been of service.” Cas continued a few more paces down the hall and then opened a door that revealed eight kennels, four of which were occupied. “Normally you’ll work with our volunteer coordinator, Jo Harvelle, but she’s out on vacation this week. You’re here for two hours. During that time, you’re expected to walk every dog in this kennel, as well as supervise their free play in the yard. There’s a log on this clipboard,” he continued, turning away from Dean’s unwavering gaze to grab the clipboard from where it hung near the door they’d just come through, “where you’ll note the walk times, number ones, number twos, and any abnormalities you notice during your time with them. Any questions so far?”

“Just one.” Cas turned back to him and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Be honest with me, and I’ll drop the subject. Why’d you turn me down?”

Cas sighed. He put his hands on his hips and chewed his bottom lip while considering his options. He could justifiably send Dean home at this point. He could tell him off. But if he did either of those things, Dean would never learn, and next month, he’d go back to that event, and with his looks and charm it wouldn’t be long before he lured some poor, unsuspecting soul right down the path of some very, very wrong and potentially harmful BDSM practices.

Moreover, Dean’s question seemed genuine - Castiel was pretty sure that someone, somewhere had steered  _ Dean  _ wrong, and he was the kind of Dom he was because he really didn’t know any better. It wasn’t the power trip kind of situation Cas had encountered in the past; this seemed to be a case of genuine lack of knowledge.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You wanna know why I left?” Dean nodded. “I left because you had no idea what you were doing. I mean—fuck, Dean. You’re gorgeous, and charming, and leaking charisma out of your ears. But I’m a real-live, honest-to-God experienced submissive, and you… you’re not a Dominant. Unfortunately you’re also not the first man I’ve met who assumed if he called himself one, he had a free pass to boss someone around in the sack, have his way with people. I’m tired of it. It’s irresponsible at best. Dangerous at worst.”

He’d held Dean under an unblinking stare while delivering his monologue, and when he finished, he took in the man’s features. His lips were slightly parted on words he couldn’t form, and his eyes were wide with shock. “Wow.”

“Asked and answered, so if you don’t mind. You’re here to work.” He handed Dean a leash and nodded sharply before turning on his heel and leaving without looking back.

Two hours later, he was going over a spreadsheet of financials for the shelter when there was a soft knock at his door. He looked up to find Dean Winchester standing there, looking absolutely gorgeous in his running shorts and grey t-shirt, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. “Hey. So. Uh. I’m done.”

Cas swallowed and dug deep to tug his composure to the surface. “Glad to see they didn’t eat you alive.”

“Yeah, they, uh—that little one, Biscuit? She sure tried.” Dean chuckled, and Cas afforded him a small smile. “So… I had a lot of time to think about what you said. And I, uh... I was wondering if you’d maybe, you know. Want to just have coffee, and you could tell me more about, you know. The stuff you said, and how I can be better at it.”

Cas sighed and looked down at where he had his hands folded on his desk. After a moment he looked back up into those goddamn gorgeous green eyes. It took him three tries at opening his mouth before words actually tumbled out of it. “Dean… in this business, we spend a lot of time helping people and pets find the right fit. You know, a cat who needs constant attention and a human who works three jobs just won’t function well together. A lab might be a guaranteed hit with a family due to his breed, or he might have been rescued from an abusive home and be terrified of men and loud noises.” Dean’s brow was creasing with confusion, so Cas shook his head and cut to the chase. “Dean, I’m the kind of sub who needs things you can’t give me. I’m not the right pet for you.”


	3. Risk

Cas wasn’t sure what he was expecting after Dean left his office that day. Maybe a cold shoulder from that point on; possibly continued flirting that would ultimately have to result in Cas removing Dean from his volunteer position for being inappropriate in the workplace; maybe, if he was lucky, the establishment of a professional relationship where they pretended that none of what had happened had  _ actually happened _ , and they continued on with their lives as though this was the one and only place they knew each other from.

He certainly did not expect that a week later, on the day of Dean’s next assigned volunteer shift, a single white rose and a chocolate bar would appear on his desk over his lunch break. There was no note, and neither Charlie nor Jo would admit to any involvement in their appearance. 

Cas closed his office door and leaned back in his chair, eating the chocolate bar in slow, careful bites. It wasn’t just a cheap milk chocolate, or a Hershey’s or something that could’ve been bought from the vending machine. This was delicious,  _ expensive  _ dark chocolate, 60% cacao, fair trade, organic… It was possibly the most delicious chocolate bar Cas had ever eaten and, he noted as he examined the wrapper, it had a surprisingly low sugar content.

The rose was fresh-cut, too; the petals were still amazingly soft, and the few leaves on the stem hadn’t wilted at all.He was nearly certain Dean had left it for him… but he couldn’t prove it.

He sniffed the rose as he chewed the last bite of chocolate, and in response let out an involuntary moan.The scent-and-flavor combination made his mouth water. He pulled a spare travel mug out of one of his office storage cabinets, filled it with water from the bathroom, and stood the rose up inside it, content to keep it for as long as the rose desired.

A week later - just as he was considering he was going to need to throw the rose out - Cas again returned from lunch to find a similar chocolate bar on his desk, and the wilted rose in his travel mug replaced with a fresh one. 

“Fresh water, too,” he mumbled as he sniffed the flower before sitting down to unwrap the chocolate bar - the same brand, but salted caramel this time - and taking the first few bites.

It  _ had  _ to be Dean. But why? What was he getting out of this?

_ Your enjoyment _ , a voice, unbidden, whispered from the darkest corners of his mind.  _ He’s taking pleasure in bringing you pleasure, in the simplest way he can _ .

Well, fuck.

First of all, he tried to reason, he couldn’t be certain if his mystery gift-giver  _ was  _ actually Dean. And he needed to find out.

Dean’s next volunteer shift was scheduled for the following week on Wednesday afternoon, and Cas made a point to remain in his office through the two hours the man was on the clock.

No one came to his door.

Nothing materialized on his desk.

At 4:10, when Dean’s shift was meant to be over, Cas finally gave up and left his office because he really,  _ really  _ had to pee.

He returned from his bathroom break to find a chocolate bar with bacon -  _ bacon  _ \- in it, and a fresh flower standing upright, this time in an actual, honest-to-God  _ vase _ , with his travel mug washed and set to dry next to it.

“Dammit.”

But he ate the candy anyway, because this was getting ridiculous.

So Dean was stealthier than him. Fine. Castiel didn’t need to be stealth. He could just be blunt.

It was another two weeks before Dean returned to the shelter for a volunteer shift, and in his absence, no one brought Cas any more chocolate, and his latest rose shriveled and died, past the point that it was worth keeping. He threw it out - but set the vase on his bookshelf, where it could easily be picked up and refilled if anyone saw fit to do so.

Because it was a nice vase.

There was no sense wasting a nice vase.

He absolutely, positively was  _ not  _ saving it on the chance that Dean Winchester might show up after his vacation with a freshly cut rose to place inside it. No way.

By now, Dean was more than proficient at handling his dog-walking responsibilities. Jo’s reports of his performance were nothing short of glowing, and he certainly didn’t need supervision, nor did he need anyone to meet him at the door or in the kennel to help him get started. But this time Cas met him back at the kennel anyway, two leashes in hand. He situated himself there 10 minutes before Dean’s shift was due to start and waited patiently for Dean to come down the hall and open the kennel door.

When he did, Cas got the reaction he expected: Green eyes wide with surprise, and a blush rising in his cheeks. “Um. Hiya Cas.” He shuffled in and pulled the clipboard off its hook to review notes from the previous shifts and to take note of any new dogs in the kennel. Cas knew for a fact there were three, but he also guessed that Dean was giving the clipboard more of a read than was strictly necessary, so he could focus on something other than Castiel.

“Hello, Dean. Did you have a nice vacation?”

“I mean, yeah. It was… it was good.”

“Don’t suppose you stocked up on the dark chocolate candy bars while you were away? I like those the best.” The telling sharp inhale was all the confirmation Cas needed, really. “You know… stalking is illegal.”

“I—wasn’t… stalking. Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

“No. I was… courting you. I guess. Sort of.”

“You guess. Sort of.”

“I. Yeah.”

In spite of what could have been a very heavy conversation, Castiel gave a breathy laugh. “OK. I’ll bite. Why?”

“Because…” Dean threw up his hands and laid the clipboard aside, facing Cas for the first time since he’d entered the kennel. “I dunno man, I… you’re…”

“A challenge?”

“Yes!” He hesitated. “No! I don’t know! All I know is, when you sat down next to me at that table last month, you did something I’m not really accustomed to: You were assertive and confident, and you turned me down. And I knew as soon as you walked out that I was in trouble, because I would have done or said  _ anything  _ to get you back in that chair, looking at me with that spark of interest in your eyes.” He ducked his head and chewed his lip, clearly abashed to have opened himself up. “And it only got worse after you told me  _ why  _ you said no. My head’s spinnin’ with all the questions I wanna ask you. You just— you interest me, OK? Right from the start, and then when I found you here, of all places… I couldn’t believe my luck. So I thought… I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

Cas mulled over Dean’s monologue for a bit, letting the words tumble over each other in his head. “It was sweet,” he said finally, quietly. “I liked it. It made me feel special.”

“Yeah?” Dean looked up at Cas in his peripherals, hopeful.

“Yes.” Cas sighed heavily and studied the floor for a long moment. “The thing is, Dean… This? Going to a munch, scoping out the local scene, trying to decide if a Dom is worth my time… it’s not just a thing I do when I feel like getting laid. It’s my _ lifestyle _ . I don’t know any other way and you… you don’t know how my way works.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that.”

“There’s so much you don’t know.” He sighed and handed both leashes to Dean so he could sit down. Dean looked down at the leashes in his hands and then took a step in the direction of the kennels. His hand was on the latch of Garth’s kennel when Cas continued in a softer tone, “I need things. When I submit to someone, they become responsible for providing those things, and you have no idea what they are.”

“So teach me.”

There was a challenge in his tone as he spoke before turning around, and when he did, it was with wide eyes that pinned Cas and didn’t blink. And when had the distance closed between them? How had  _ that  _ happened? His next exhale was shaky. “I like the dark chocolate best,” he repeated, holding Dean’s gaze steady, but his voice was barely above a whisper. “And next time, leave the thorns on the rose.” He stared into those pools of green - now sparking with hope and possibility - for as long as he could manage before he turned and walked out of the kennel, leaving Dean to his responsibilities with the dogs.


	4. Reward

The next time Dean worked, Cas intentionally left his desk for a long lunch, right before the start of Dean’s shift. 

He returned to a dark chocolate candy bar, identical to the first one he’d received, and a freshly cut rose in his vase, which had been filled with water and moved back to his desk.

This rose, as requested, still had the thorns.

It was also pink instead of white.

Cas chuckled under his breath and shook his head before advancing to touch his fingers to the flower. He let his thumb and forefinger caress a petal gently before his hand drifted south and he intentionally pressed the pad of his left thumb over a single thorn.

He hissed when the skin broke, but then he inhaled, like life was coming into his veins for the first time in a  _ very  _ long time.

He moved aside and grabbed a Band-Aid from his desk drawer, wrapping the wound before unwrapping his candy bar and sitting down to enjoy it. He savored every thoughtful bite, chewing over his snack and the idea of Dean Winchester as a potential Dominant.

Not boyfriend. Not lover. No. But Dean could fill a role. Returning to his original line of thinking on that night at the restaurant, before Dean had said the wrong thing and it had all gone downhill - he could scratch an itch. With a little training.

_ Jesus fucking Christ, Novak, you’re really so desperate you’re willing to be the one doing the training? _

He shoved the voice in his subconscious aside for now. Nevermind that there were probably — almost certainly — capable Doms in this city who could do what he needed. For some reason, he wanted Dean, and that was that. He sighed and ate the rest of his candy bar in mopey silence.

When it was gone, he looked at the rose, then at his bandaged left thumb. He still wanted this. But now the shoe was on a foot it had never, ever been on before, in Cas’ entire history of being a submissive: He was the teacher. It’s not just that he was holding the cards, in the sense that he always held the cards because  _ the submissive always holds the cards _ , and that’s part of what makes power dynamics so interesting. No… this was different. Bigger. He had never had to teach someone how to be a Dominant. Historically, he’d chosen partners who had their role firmly in hand; men and women who could be trusted to give him what he needed for a night, or a weekend, or longer without overstepping their bounds. This was a level of power and authority he’d never had, and he wasn’t sure it made him entirely comfortable.

But there was something about Dean, and he couldn’t deny that. His curiosity was piqued, and the feeling was obviously mutual.

He heaved a heavy sigh and settled on what was hopefully the start of a plan.

***

“I think we should have coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“Together, after your shift.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. “Well well well. That’s a hell of a one-eighty from the guy who wouldn’t give me the time of day two months ago.”

Cas rolled his eyes - probably too much, he considered after the fact, but Dean’s cockiness was  _ really  _ not doing it for him - and then shrugged. “OK, fine, forget it.”

“Hey. Woah. No, no— Cas, listen.” Dean dipped his chin, and rested his hands on his hips while he bit down hard on his lower lip, clearly gathering his composure. When his eyes met Cas’ again, the light that had accompanied Dean’s snark was gone, and damn, the smoldering heat that replaced it had Cas mirroring Dean’s lip-biting gesture for entirely different reasons. “I like you. I want to have coffee with you. But I do not want to continue this… whatever this is, where you give an inch and then take it back the second I open my mouth. I don’t want to play games with you, all right? So, fine. Either you think we should have coffee or you think I’m a jerk, but you can’t have it both ways.” Having apparently said his peace, Dean held Cas’ gaze for a long beat before nodding once, as if making a decision, and then turning on his heel to walk back toward the kennels.

“No, I—Dean, I’m—” Cas sighed and started to follow Dean, but he hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps before Dean pulled open the door to Kennel 1 and stepped inside. It closed at his heels, effectively ending the conversation.

“You OK there, boss?”

He blinked several times, trying to process the voice that was too feminine to be Dean’s. “Uh.”

“We’re going to pretend that I didn’t hear what I’m pretty sure I heard, right?”

_ That  _ was enough to snap him out of it. He whipped around to face Jo. “What did you hear?”

“How long have you two been dating?” She dodged, eyebrows raised. “I know it’s none of my business, but that sounded like the tail end of a lover’s spat.”

“I wasn’t— I’m not—!” He threw his hands up, exasperated. “We’re not dating.”

“From a purely professional standpoint, he’s one of my best volunteers. I’d hate to lose him.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a bit before adding, “And, uh. Cas? As a friend?” He grunted. He knew what was coming before the words were even out of her mouth. “He seems like a really great guy.”

Her words weighed heavily; he couldn’t find fault with any of them. Misdirection was the best course of action, then. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Clocking out for the day. But, uh. If you don’t mind a little friendly advice? That thing I definitely didn’t hear Dean say, about being a jerk or having coffee.” She widened her eyes, clearly imploring him to take her at her word. “In my experience, dogs have better people-sense than most humans, and that boy has yet to piss off a single one of my furry friends in Kennel 1. Maybe you should take that under consideration.” Castiel raised his eyebrows, and Jo gave a little shrug. “Have coffee,” she whispered, and then she was walking out the front door before Cas could digest the full weight of everything she’d said.


	5. Lattes and Lamentations

It’s possible that Cas spent Dean’s entire shift moping in his office, but no one could ever prove it.

He looked at the rose currently occupying the vase.

He looked down at his thumb, where the thorn-prick wound was just a memory.

He glanced at the clock, then buried his face in his hands and let out a long, suffering exhale.

He did a little bit of work, but mostly, he brooded.

He wasn’t sure whether he expected Dean to come to him or not, and he hadn’t decided whether he was going to get up to seek him out, but it turned out it didn’t matter. At 3:52 by bright red numbers on Cas’ wall clock, there was a knock on his door.

He cleared his throat. “C— come in.”

The door opened and Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “So?”

“I, uh.” Again, he cleared his throat. Maybe if he did it enough times, the words would stop getting stuck there. “Msrry.”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, you’re what?”

“I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he enunciated, eyes finding Dean’s as he pushed back the voice in his head that so badly wanted to tag on a snarky comment at the end of his apology. “You’re right. I fed you mixed signals, and then I got mad when you attempted a joke.”

“A funny joke.”

“It wasn’t funny, it was—” but then he noticed something in Dean’s eyes — a light that hadn’t been there before, a jovialness that softened his features — and he drew a sharp breath to reign himself in. “You’re using humor again.”

“It’s kind of my schtick.”

Cas just nodded, then looked away, suddenly aware of how long he’d been staring. He bit his lip, unable to look at Dean and really unsure of where to go from here. He should probably lead the way. He’d issued the initial invite, after all. But he wasn’t sure if they were OK now - or as OK as they had been, anyway, or—

“So, coffee. Did you have a place in mind? Because if not, there’s this little place just down the block with a barista who pulls off some  _ amazing  _ latte art.”

And that got Castiel’s attention. “The Wayward Cafe?”

“Yeah, you know it?”

“I’ve probably stopped there every workday on my way in since I took this job.”

“No kidding?”

“Why would I kid about my morning coffee?”

Dean chuckled and opened the door a bit wider as Cas stood up from behind his desk and braved prolonged eye contact. 

There it was again, that green.  _ So  _ green. Cas could get lost in all that green, and by the way Dean’s pupils were dilating in those heartbeats where they couldn’t look away, he was having similar thoughts about Castiel’s blue irises.

They both seemed to realize they were staring at about the same time, and Cas blushed and looked away while Dean cleared his throat, and they left the office without another word.

“Just let me, uh…” Cas gestured vaguely as he walked toward Charlie’s office, and he noticed that Dean hung back a few steps, keeping himself out of view, allowing Cas the opportunity to keep his plans under wraps if he chose to. He knocked lightly on Charlie’s door, which was ajar anyway, and she looked up from her computer screen, smiling.

“What can I do ya for, Boss?”

“I, uh.” Cas frowned, befuddled by the circumstance and by her greeting and just. Everything about the current situation, if he was honest. “I’m headed out for the day. You OK to close up?” The shelter closed at 5:00, and Cas didn’t entirely see the point in coming back to the office after a late break like this one.

“Sure, No problem.”

“Thanks.” 

He turned to leave, and just as he crossed over the threshold, he heard her add, “Say hi to Dean for me.”

With another, deeper breath to center himself, he gathered his resolve and followed Dean out the shelter’s front door.

They walked in comfortable silence down the block from the shelter and across the street to Wayward Cafe. It was quieter mid-afternoon than Cas was used to seeing it in the mornings, full of bustle and people in a hurry to get… wherever they were on their way to. Now, only a handful of patrons occupied the shop, and Dean winked at the young woman behind the counter as they approached. “Afternoon, Krissy,” he greeted with a smile, and she grinned back - more with the fondness of a daughter to her father than anything else. “My usual, and uh— whatever this guy usually orders in the morning.”

Krissy looked Cas up and down with an appraising smile. “You must come in early,” she remarked by way of greeting. “Never seen you before, handsome.”

Dean braced one forearm on the counter, leaning into Krissy’s space. “He’s twice your age. Easy.”

“Not a problem for me if it’s not a problem for him, Pops,” she replied, looking over his shoulder to make eye contact with Cas.

“OK, well how about he doesn’t swing your way, so you just cool your jets and aim the flirt engine at someone more in your lane.”

At that, Krissy’s face lit up and she visibly gave a few hops up and down while clapping her hands, eyes glancing between Dean and Cas. It was possible she even squealed before her next words came out in a rush. “Are— is this a date, are you on a date, is he your  _ date _ ?”

“Not a date. Just. Friends. Or. Not even. We— he’s— we work together.” He turned away from Krissy. “Cas. What’re you drinkin’?”

“Um. I— double mocha latte with skim milk, please,” Cas intoned, shaking his head a bit to shake off the confusion that clung to him on all sides. First Charlie, now this barista — why did it feel like literally everyone thought he and Dean were an item? Was something written on his forehead? No, that couldn’t be it, because the barista had outright flirted with him on first sight. 

Humans were so complicated, and complication rattled him. He liked things simple. Black and white. Contracted. 

In an attempt to quiet his thoughts, he took a step closer to the counter, and closer to Dean. He was now just behind Dean’s elbow, so he heard Dean grumble the barista’s name under his breath in mild warning when it was possible Dean hadn’t intended him to overhear that.

Not that it mattered. “Lookit that,” she quipped brightly as she punched in the order. “You have the same  _ usual _ . Isn’t that… interesting.” She flicked her smile between the two of them in turn, then focused on Dean, suddenly all business. “Nine forty-nine, Pops,” she said, and before Cas could interject, Dean handed Krissy a ten and said, “Keep the change, kiddo,” before stepping away from the counter and leading Cas to a table in a corner, as far from the shop’s other patrons - and the counter - as possible. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled as they sat, and Cas couldn’t help but smile a bit at the obvious blush warming Dean’s cheeks. “She, uh…”

“Why does she call you that?” Because really, the whole exchange had been endearing, despite the girl’s attempts to hit on Cas, and then failing that, to meddle in Dean’s personal life.   
“Ughhh… I should’ve known better than to walk in there with you. She’s— I dated her mom. Like three years ago. Didn’t even last a year, but… I dunno. She’d never had a father figure in her life, and she and I sorta… we had the same… I dunno. We’re both sarcastic and bullheaded, for one thing.” He shrugged. “Anyway. It ended on good terms with her mom, and neither of us really settled with anyone else, so Krissy’s been kinda… my kid. Not really, but. You know.” He shrugged.

“Pops! Come get your coffee before my art gets fucked up!”

“ _ Language _ , Kristina,” Dean gritted through his teeth as he stood up and went to retrieve their drinks.

To her credit, she said nothing more, just grinned and waved a fingertip wave to Cas over Dean’s departing back.

He set their coffees down and returned to his chair, hands folded in front of himself. “So,” he said, and Cas mirrored his posture, suddenly both on edge and looking forward to this conversation. “Tell me why you wanted to have coffee.”

Cas could’ve said a lot of things. He could have minced words or hedged around the subject or made a joke. He could have played it off entirely, and just said he wanted to have coffee as friends, because they’d gotten off on the wrong foot all those weeks ago.

But he didn’t do any of that. He looked across the table into Dean’s eyes, and something in the way the other man held his gaze, attentive and patient, made him cut right to the heart of it. “When we first met, it was… there’s no denying that I felt something for you, even if it was just a glimmer of attraction. I wanted to get to know you better. And then you… said… what you said and…”

“And I fucked up my chances, I get it.” Dean sounded tense, like he maybe didn’t understand where Cas was going, so Cas shook his head and took a sudden interest in studying the wooden tabletop between them.

“No. No I… that’s not it at all. I’m so used to being, uh. Jerked around, I guess, by people who think they can— can own me? Tame me? Just… have whatever they want from me? That I’ve gotten used to going to events like that with my defenses already up. Like I need to take care of myself, otherwise I’m opening up the door for a whole heap of trouble. And you… didn’t know that. And I mean, I wasn’t wrong, you  _ don’t  _ know what you’re doing, you  _ don’t  _ really understand how to be a Dom, but you’re not… you’re not out to hurt anyone, and you’re not in this to be selfish. I think you could be good at it, really good at it, Dean, if…”

“If…?”

Cas drew in a deep breath. He took in the scent of his mocha, the faint scent of Dean’s cologne. Then he looked up, determined, and set his jaw. “I can teach you,” he said. “I won’t be your sub. We won’t be dating, we won’t officially be anything except… business partners.”

“Business partners.”

“Yes.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

Cas bit his lower lip. He looked away, but Dean cleared his throat and the sound drew Cas’ eyes back to catch his arched eyebrow. “It’s been way too long.” Christ, what was he  _ saying _ ? And  _ why _ ? “I need someone to hurt me.”


	6. Good Intentions

“Oh—O—okayyyy.” Dean drummed his fingertips, all ten of them from left to right like falling dominoes on the tabletop, and it was his turn to focus on the wood, study the wormholes and imperfections, in an attempt to figure out what to say next. “I mean. I can dish out a spanking, no strings attached, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, no. I’m.” Cas took a long moment to focus on his breathing, because this was something he hadn’t said out loud in a public place, not ever. “I’m a masochist. I don’t do this for kicks, it’s not funishment, it’s… I  _ need  _ it.” He sighed. This was turning out to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated. “Spanking’s just the start, and honestly, Dean, if you’re going to go into the lifestyle, if you’re going to be a Dom— the way I think you could, it’s— you’ll find what you like and what you don’t, and you’ll pair up with people who match your kinks. So here I am, that beautiful submissive you thought you were just gonna go get a quick blowjob from in your car that night, telling you that what I am, and what I need to be satisfied, isn’t  _ service _ , necessarily. It’s pain.”

“Pain.”

“Yes.”

“That’s.” He bit his lip. “That’s fucked up, Cas.”

“Yeah well then I guess I’m fucked up.”

“Touche.”

Cas shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve heard it, that’s all. Bottom line, Dean, you had  _ no idea _ what you were getting yourself into, am I right? You thought it was all about sex. You’d get a quickie where you could call the shots, walk away satisfied, having gotten exactly what you wanted out of the deal because you were the Dom. Because you were in charge. But it doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m starting to get that.”

“So I’m offering you a deal. I’m offering to teach you what it’s really like to be a good Dom. You’ll get what you want out of it; you’ll be satisfied. I’ll offer you my trust and I’ll submit to you, mind and body. But you’ll do for me what I need, too.”

“And if I say no?”

Cas shrugged. “Then I’ll find someone else, and you’ll stay clueless.”

A beat. Then, “And if I say yes?”

Castiel drew a breath, daring to hope. He spread his hands on the table. “Then… we start getting together in less public places.”

“So we can... scene.”

“Not at first, no. There’s too much you need to learn before I agree to let you…” He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything else. 

“I’m in.”

“What?”

“I said I’m in. I’m all in for this… BDSM 101 thing you’re proposing. I mean, you’re right. I went in guns blazing without any real idea of what I wanted, let alone what the other person might want or need from me. So. Teach me how to be a good Dom. I’m an open book. Obviously.”

“OK. Um.” Cas drew his lips into a thin line, then let a little chuckle escape, trying to decide whether this was the best or worst idea he’d ever had. “Once a week. We can do Wednesdays after your shift, or I can be flexible if you have another day that would work better.”

A familiar twinkle that Cas was now beginning to associate with Dean’s humor crept into the other man’s eyes and he said, “I bet you’re flexi—” he cut himself off, cleared his throat. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“‘S fine. I am, though. Flexible that way, too.” He delivered it deadpan, mostly to see what kind of reaction he’d get out of Dean, and Dean didn’t disappoint. He’d lifted his coffee cup to his lips and taken a sip, and as he digested Cas’ reply, the result was an honest-to-God  _ spit-take _ .

Cas couldn’t help it. He lost himself in a fit of silent laughter.

“Oh— Oh I see. When it’s  _ your  _ joke, it’s funny.” But he was laughing, too. 

Cas looked down at his coffee cup. It was empty, and he couldn’t even remember drinking it. A glance at his phone told him his hour was almost up, and he needed to get back to work. “I… thank you, Dean. For this.”

“Thank you, yourself. So, uh. Next Wednesday… I, uh…”

“Does that work for you? I can—”

“No, it’s—”

“Sorry I’m—”

Dean held up his hand as he pushed slowly to his feet. “Next Wednesday is perfect. Just name a time and place.”

“I get off work when the shelter closes at 5:00. I’ll text you my address; I’m usually home by 5:30. You can meet me there at six.”

“OK I— wait, how do you have my phone number?” Cas raised his eyebrows and watched in mild amusement as Dean calculated exactly how they’d come to be sitting here. “Oh. Right.” 

Cas stood, too, and they took their empty mugs to the counter, and Krissy winked at them and threw in a little finger-wave as they turned to exit the cafe.


	7. Checks and Balances

The following Wednesday, Cas gave Dean ample time to leave him the now-customary rose and chocolate at the beginning of his volunteer shift.

This time, the rose was blood red, and the stem had enough thorns that when Cas pricked his thumb to bleed, it wasn’t on purpose.

The clock ticked past 4:00 and headed on toward closing time, and the closer it got to the mark, the more Cas’ stomach filled with butterflies and the harder it was for him to focus on his work. Finally, when the clock read 4:45 and he’d read the same paragraph of a grant proposal three times and still didn’t understand what it said, he slammed the folder shut and stood up abruptly.  _ What the fuck, Novak? _ he thought to himself as he paced up to close his office door.  _ He’s just a guy. A prospective Dom. You’ve been through this before.  _ He pulled at his hair, kicked the side of his desk, and shut down his computer in a frazzled huff.

He must have been still firmly inside said huff as he left his office and headed for the kennels to do one last wellness check before locking up, because when he bumped into Jo in the hall, she took one look at his face and asked what was on fire.

“No— nothing. I’m sorry, I’m just \a bit more rushed than usual.”

“What— Oooohh.”

“Oh? What oh?”

“You’ve got a date. Is it Dean? Are you meeting him somewhere?”

“Jo, I’m just trying to—”

“Did I hear that Cas and Dean are going on a date?” Charlie’s head poked out of her office, eyes darting between Cas and Jo.

Exasperated, Cas threw up his hands. Charlie, Jo, the barista at the coffee shop… what  _ was  _ it with people? “We’re not going on a date! We’re not going  _ anywhere _ , we’re just going to be at my apartm—” He cut himself off, but the damage was done. Both women shrieked with glee, and Charlie turned to Jo, suddenly bubbling with plans. 

“You go ahead and get going, boss. We’ll do the final checks and lock up.”

“Agreed. Oh, and tell Dean that I had one of our Friday volunteers drop out, so he can have that second shift if he wants it.”

“I’ll… do that. Thank you.” They’d done a good job of short-circuiting his mental huff and stilling the butterflies, and now he wandered out of the center in a bit of a haze. 

The drive home was uneventful, which was probably good because Cas couldn’t say for certain exactly how much of his attention was on the road. Most of it was distracted by thoughts about what he needed to do when he got there, before Dean arrived. 

His checklist, that was first. He hadn’t reviewed it since his last steady partner, so he went through the marks quickly, making sure they were still in line. Then he printed it and sealed it in an envelope for Dean.

He printed a blank checklist next, and set both items on his kitchen table before going into his room and stripping off his work clothes. He swapped them for lounge pants and a well-worn UCLA tee. A quick swipe of deodorant and then he padded out of his room barefoot and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge.

He’d just set them on the table when there was a knock at his door.

6:00.

Dean was punctual. 

He tried to tell himself that the pass by his hallway mirror that allowed himself one last hair check before opening the door was a coincidence. 

“Right on time.”

“I aim to impress.” 

Cas swept his arm in a welcoming gesture, and Dean stepped over the threshold. For his part, he looked just as nervous as Cas felt. He kept biting his lower lip and drumming his hands on his denim-clad thighs as Cas locked the door. 

“Nice place,” he remarked when Cas was finally facing him again.

Cas answered with a nod. “I’m watching the market to buy a place, but this isn’t bad in the meantime.” It really wasn’t — part of the reason Cas hadn’t rushed into buying a home in Lawrence was that he’d stumbled into this rental, and when it came down to it, the 2 bedroom/1.5 bath condo was proving to be a far better deal than anything he could afford to buy. “My landlord had it ready for occupancy just a day after I accepted the job offer here. I really lucked out.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Cas couldn’t help watching as Dean ran a reverent hand over granite countertops. “Granite, stainless steel appliances… real wood floors?”

“Laminate. But it passes.”

Dean huffed a laugh and nodded before turning away from the open kitchen and back to Cas, who was still watching him curiously from beside the kitchen table. “So…”

“Uh. So.” Cas bit his lip, allowing himself to indulge just this once in a long, hard stare at Dean. “So I printed this for you.” He held out the checklist, and Dean ambled over to take it from him, his brow drawing into a pinch as he studied it. “It’s a kinks checklist. Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Once.” Dean’s attention was still primarily on the paper, and he didn’t look away from it, though he kept talking as he turned to the second page. “I read about it on the Internet, anyway. People actually… you actually do these? Circling the numbers, the whole nine?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Cas stressed, fingers tightening around the side of the table. He’d agreed to do this and he would not lose his temper.  _ Patience _ . He drew a deep breath and let out a calming exhale. “And you will, too, if you want anywhere near me or any other submissive worth their salt.” He nodded toward the envelope. “That’s mine. Updated just today. It’s your copy, and a first indication of trust. Take it with you when you leave, study it, ask me any questions you have.”

“Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want my answers to influence yours. We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to complete your checklist. And then we’ll open mine, and we’ll talk about it.”

“Talk.”

“Until we’re blue in the face. You think I’m kidding, but this? This is building block one. Communication. Take it or leave it.”

“This is almost like…”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “School? Homework?”

Dean shook his head, eyes returning to the checklist. He turned another page and mumbled, “A relationship.”

It might have been mumbled, but it rang through Cas’ head clear as a bell.


	8. Trust Fall

For all of Dean’s initial posturing when Cas had first confessed how he labeled himself in the scene, the pseudo-Dom’s checklist was as good a match to Cas’ own as he had ever seen.

He ran the pad of his thumb over one response that piqued his curiosity. “Have you ever done rope bondage?”

Dean winced and looked up from Cas’ list, which he was studying in the chair across the table. “No,” he admitted, and then his face pulled into a grimace. “I’ve seen some really amazing work, and I don’t think I could match it. Plus.” He gestured into the air with his hands and looked up as though the correct answer was written on the ceiling. “I wouldn’t— there’s so much room for something to go wrong, you know? If a rope snaps or there’s burn on the skin or— I don’t need that on my conscience.”

Cas hummed and returned his eyes to Dean’s list, again thumbing at the penciled “1” in the blank corresponding to rope bondage. “I enjoy it,” he allowed, but kept his tone level, because although Dean hadn’t completely closed off the subject with a 0 — hard limit, no thank you, never at all — he seemed entirely under-confident about his ability to perform it, and Cas didn’t want to rile him and push him further into that feeling, further toward that limit. “Maybe  _ because  _ of the rope burn, or because of the risks. Or both.” He glanced momentarily at Dean, who was now worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “What if we took a class?”

“A rope bondage class?” Dean put down the list in his hands. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s how people learn to do it the right way. The  _ safe  _ way. If you absolutely don’t want to, it’s fine, but… if all you need is a little confidence…”

“No promises. I’ll keep it in mind. Let’s just. Christ. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Baby steps, OK?”

Cas raised Dean’s list to hide the smile that was creeping across his face, and he kept his mouth shut, but the words hummed pleasantly across his mind.  _ There might be hope for him after all _ . 

“I can  _ hear  _ you smiling at me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Stop it.”

“Or?” It was Cas’ turn to bite down hard on his bottom lip. He hadn’t put down the paper, and he couldn’t see Dean’s face, but apparently his inner brat had decided it was OK to emerge from the rock it had been hiding under for the better part of a year.

Dean, to his part, didn’t disappoint. The next words Cas heard were growled into his ear from behind — and Cas hadn’t even heard Dean get up from the table. “Or I’ll  _ make  _ you.”

For a long moment, Cas stayed absolutely still. Dean did too, and in those heartbeats it was like the world was shifting and reshaping itself all around the two of them, until at last it settled into something new and exciting and pulled tightly back into focus. Then Cas tilted his head up to lock eyes with Dean in what he knew was a challenging gaze. “Challenge. Accepted.”

Dean balked at that a bit - lips parting and eyes blinking rapidly as Cas’ words processed across his cerebral cortex. Cas, too, cringed as he realized what he’d said, what that sounded like. He turned away from Dean, eyes dropping to the tabletop. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Bit of a mixed message again there, Cas.” Dean’s voice sounded equal parts strained and interested, as though he’d had a reply ready but had restrained himself from actually saying it out loud. And damn if that didn’t just make Cas feel worse. Dean was quiet for a long time, and he didn’t move from his position behind Cas’ chair. When he finally spoke again, his voice was conspiratorial - as though he’d just solved a riddle way ahead of the rest of the group. “I don’t think you are.”

“Excuse me?” But a shiver ran up Cas’ spine without his permission, because Dean was dangerously close to the truth.

“I don’t think you’re sorry at all.” Still with the same tone - conspiratorial. Measured. And very slightly ominous with victory. Apparently satisfied with Cas’ stunned silence, Dean let out a little hum. “Can I ask you a question that can’t be answered by this list?”

“I… suppose?” Why was this so hard? This part wasn’t supposed to be hard! This was the scripted part, the part where all they did was look at their kinks in black and white and decide what they might do together, how they might fit. It was not. Supposed. To be hard.

“What do you want from me, Castiel? What’s your… your  _ end game _ , here?”

Cas’ mind screamed at him.  _ Abort, abort! Abandon mission! _ Because there wasn’t supposed to be  _ any  _ “endgame.” This was supposed to be about Dean’s education. There weren’t feelings. Cas had wants and needs but none of them had anything to do with Dean and… 

He heaved a deep breath, let it out, and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. “I told you. To help you understand what it means to be a real Dom.”

Dean nodded and hummed again. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Then he said, “See, I don’t think that’s the whole story. But I also think you’d be awfully disappointed if I said I’d had enough of your games and I stood up and walked out. You  _ like  _ this.”

The blush that flooded Cas’ face burned bright and red and he knew Dean could see it. “I  _ like  _ being on the receiving end of an experienced man’s flogger.”

The response wasn’t immediate, and when it came out, it wasn’t very loud at all, but Cas could tell there wasn’t room for argument, either. “I’ll go along with this plan of yours to make me a better Dom, but I’m not here for any mind games, you hear me?” Cas hesitated just a beat. “You laid out your terms, but I think it’s fair that I get to voice mine too. No games, Castiel.”

“Fine.”

“OK then. What did you mean, exactly, when you said that just now?  _ Challenge accepted _ ?”

“It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It was a— a mistake.” Cas’ face was still flushed hot, and now his palms were sweaty, and he started mentally berating himself because he hadn’t been this nervous in conversation with a Dominant in a long,  _ long  _ time. “A reflex. I’m used to— I like—”

“You like to behave badly in order to earn yourself a beating.” It wasn’t a question. It was a blank filled in with confidence; an answer Dean had had since they’d started this little back-and-forth.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Dean was quiet again, this time for so long that Cas finally looked up. He found the other man studying the tabletop, finger tracing idly at a line in the old wood. “Here’s the thing, Cas.  _ Clearly  _ I’m interested in you, I’ve made no secret of that fact. That ought to tell you something about what I’m willing to do if only you  _ ask _ .”

Cas still couldn’t look Dean in the eye, and he felt too warm all over. The silence that settled on them was stifling, and Cas felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, asking Dean to push him - and being told he would have to jump on his own, but that Dean would catch him at the bottom.

He had to give in, and trust.

He exhaled in a rush of air. “OK.”

“What do you want, Castiel?”

“I want.” His lips were dry, his heart was pounding. He was falling. Fast. He looked up through his eyelashes, wanting to pin the other man with his gaze, to convey how serious his answer was, but unable to lift his chin. “I want to see what you look like with an instrument in your hands.”


	9. Precipice

_ What do you want, Castiel? _

The words thrummed through his body even after he’d answered Dean. The blush faded from his skin and seemed to fold itself inward, making his blood run hot through his veins. 

He prided himself on being a knowledgeable, confident submissive, practiced in his art and not afraid to advocate for himself. He knew the ropes, literally and figuratively, and had happily played this game, this  _ cat-and-mouse _ as Dean called it, for the better part of a decade.

But he had never, not once, been asked that question in quite that way. He was no stranger to the overused lines -  _ “Beg for it, Boy.” “You’re going to have to ask… nicely.” “You’ll get what you want, don’t worry.” _ But that was just it, wasn’t it? Every Dom presumed to know what he was after and exactly how to give it to him, once he’d consented to kneeling before them. They reviewed his checklist, they talked about a scene, but once they were in the heat of it, Cas was giving them the reigns. He’d never regretted it, but still. This was an entirely new, entirely blunt question - improv, rather than a scripted scene.

_ What do you want, Castiel? _

And although he wouldn’t admit it right then in the moment, he’d look back later and realized he’d tossed his entire plan out the window right then. Dean was going off script, but fuck it. This was new, and hot, and exciting. As long as he kept his head about him, it would be fine.

“What’ve you got in your arsenal?” Dean asked.

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “What do you have in yours?”

“Uh. Not much.”

“Right.” Because if everything Dean had done up to this point in terms of dominating had mostly involved bossing his partner around in bed, the worst funishment he’d probably dealt out was a mediocre spanking. The realization pulled Cas back to center, and that was good, actually. He needed the reminder that Dean, no matter how insightful he might have been just a few minutes ago, was the rookie here. “Be right back.”

He hadn’t touched his bag of toys since he’d moved in, except for a couple of his favorite vibrators, and one day when he’d felt especially daring, a butt plug to wear to work. Still, he gave its contents a quick once-over to make sure everything inside was in order, and that nothing smelled like it hadn’t been washed after its last use. He was careful, generally, but… subdrop happened. Mistakes were made.

Pushing that thought aside, he took the bag out to his kitchen table and held it up for Dean, who raised his eyebrows in return. “I’m used to Dominants having their own heavy gear. Furniture, restraints, the like. But I carry my own bag of small toys for personal use. It’s easier than trusting someone else’s hygiene.” He cleared his throat, unwilling to take that any further, then set the red leather drawstring bag on the table and reached inside for a couple of things, to start with. “This is my favorite paddle.” He looked at it and ran his hand over the wood. “Handcrafted, lightweight, fits well in your hand, leaves a good sting.” He handed it over to Dean, who took it as though it might bite him.

“It has  _ nails  _ in it.”

“They don’t come all the way through, and when it hits, it’s just the head of the nail that meets the skin. Dean.” He put as much command into his tone as he could muster, willing the other man to look at him. He wasn’t sure if it was the name or the tone or the silence that followed, but Dean eventually looked up. “I  _ like  _ the way it hurts. You asked what I want, and this is what I want. And you…”

“I what?” His voice was subdued, likely from the cold dose of reality he was swallowing right then. 

“Just. You… you look really good when you hold it.” That earned him a smile and Cas dug into the bag again, pulling out another flogger. “Rug beater loop, made of flexible plaited stainless steel cable and coated in PVC. Little secret about this one? You can turn it around, hold the loop, and the handle gives a pretty solid hit as well.” He held it out to Dean by the loop to demonstrate, and this time there was no hesitation — Dean took it, giving it a swing as a test. 

“I like this one.”

Cas hummed. He liked it, too, especially for its versatility. One creative Dom had even fucked him with the handle end alongside his own dick, Cas’ first pseudo double-team. 

The memory made him suck in a breath, and he reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a couple of plugs. He laid them out for Dean to examine and was pleased when Dean did so mostly with his eyes, fingers barely ghosting over the objects on the table, and his hand still holding the looped paddle. “One of the, uh, main things that turned me off about you so quickly that first night was that you immediately assumed my position and my mindset was that this would be a sexual arrangement. That getting off together would be the end-goal. You need to know that’s not what everyone’s looking for. For me, it’s— Dean, I— I don’t—” He sighed. “Orgasm isn’t my primary concern. I don’t need you to touch me sexually  _ at all _ for me to enjoy a scene. I— my masochism didn’t connect at all with my sexual desires until a few years ago, and often, it still doesn’t. I get off on the pain, understand?”

“No.” Dean sounds subdued, and he’s still studying the plugs, but he’s still gripping the paddle. He glances between the two, then at Cas. “So what’s all this then?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I need both. And sometimes my partner wants sexual sadism at their disposal, even if they don’t intend to get me off. Sometimes they need that, even if I don’t. And I’m— that’s OK.”

“Is it, though?”

Cas flinched just a hair. “If it’s not, I always have my safeword.” He pulled his eyes away and distracted himself by reaching back into the bag to pull out a few other things - a leather flogger with tapered tails, three dildos in varying shapes and sizes, and a remote-controlled prostate massager. “I also own two canes. They don’t fit in this bag, and I keep them well-hidden, for a lot of reasons.”

Dean circled around the table, fingers dancing over the objects laid out on it, reaching down but never quite touching. Then he looked at Cas, and Cas sucked in a breath at the trepidation he saw there. “Cas… this is…”

“Fucked up?”

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I told you that if you gave me what I needed, I’d repay in kind, and you’d walk away satisfied. I intend to keep that promise.”

“But you— you won’t  _ enjoy  _ it. Christ, Cas, I…”

“Enjoyment and getting off aren’t exactly the same thing,” he challenged, and they stared each other down for a long moment. “Say no, if you’re not sure. We can still walk away from this.”

“It’s just… it’s not what I thought, and I’m…”

“You should go, Dean. Find someone to warm your bed tonight whose body needs the things you’re prepared to offer.”

He didn’t really expect Dean to stay. He never had. He’d hoped - maybe a bit too much - but in the end, he hadn’t thought this all through to their first scene because he’d never expected to get that far.

So why did it feel like his heart shattered with the close of his front door?


	10. Into the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, there is (beautiful) NSFW art at the very end of this chapter. Heed your surroundings, 'n all that.

“You’re new.”

“Only locally.”

The Dom’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “I see. You got a name?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel. Cas...tiel.” He’d seen Dominants do this before - roll his name around in their mouth like they were tasting it. He supposed he understood. It was unique. Probably tasted like some kind of strange triumph, a name they wouldn’t soon forget. “Well then, Castiel. What brings you here tonight?”

He nodded toward the whip coiled on the Dominant’s belt. The man himself wasn’t anything special - average height, average build, average looks - but the whip he carried looked handmade and expensive. That either meant he was a plebe looking to impress someone who didn’t know what they were doing, or he was the genuine article. 

It was worth the risk. 

Cas nodded toward the whip. “You know how to use that properly?”

The Dom smirked and unhooked it, taking the coil into his hands and gripping it loosely in a loop for a long moment before he secured his wrist around the handle. “I’m doing a demo in about 10 minutes, Castiel.” Lots of them liked to do this, too - use his name as often as possible, trying to grasp it, trying to own it in a way they could never own him. “And then I’m free to give you what you need, if you’re still of the mind.”

Castiel nodded, and the Dom offered a single nod of affirmation in return. “Stay, then. Watch the demonstration. We’ll talk after.”

This man wasn’t Dean. In fact, he was pretty much everything Dean wasn’t, and that was on purpose. Most importantly, he knew how to execute this dance between a sadist and a masochist with perfectly syncopated beats. He wouldn’t do anything new or exciting, but he wouldn’t disappoint, either.

This play party wasn’t in Lawrence, and that was on purpose, too. Castiel didn’t know what Dean did during the week, didn’t know how much he’d participated in the local kink scene since his encounter with Castiel, but he wanted to remove all chances of running into him while he was out doing things he wasn’t particularly proud of, and getting out of Lawrence seemed the best way to do that.

So he’d looked into his options and made the hour-long drive to Kansas City, across the state line into Missouri, where he was hoping the size of the city and the diversity of the scene would help him maintain a level of anonymity. He’d found this club and its designated fetish nights and booked himself a hotel room for the night of the party, the Saturday directly following the Wednesday on which things with Dean had gone so horribly downhill.

He found a place to kneel on the floor in the front row around a polished St. Andrew’s Cross - dark wood, black leather restraints at all four corners - and settled in to wait for the demo to begin. He was still fully dressed in leather pants and a loose white button-up top, but after a few minutes of holding his position, he started to really feel the floor under his knees and shins. It was hard and cold, but he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, relishing the feel of it. Floors like this - smooth concrete - didn’t bite into the skin, but they had their own kind of unforgiving pain to offer, and Cas’ brain honed in on that and clung to it, slipping into a mildly meditative state.

He could blame that mental state, probably, for the fact that he didn’t notice the Dom from earlier and his submissive partner enter the play space for the demonstration. _ Must’ve closed my eyes _, he thought, and dismissed it, because that was no big deal. It happened sometimes. But in this particular case, it meant he’d missed their entrance and hadn’t gotten a good look at the sub. He could only see the man’s back now, buckled as he was, assways-out into the cross. From where Cas sat, the sub on the cross was muscular and tan, if not bronze. His short-cropped hair danced an impossible line between brown and blonde, and Cas started to wonder about the color of his eyes. 

The Dom was speaking, probably giving an introduction, his eyes darting to Cas intermittently, and Cas knew he’d been caught present but definitely not paying attention. He expected that he'dexpected he’d pay for that later, but for now, he couldn’t take his eyes off the man on the cross.

He did hear the words, though. Loud and clear, he heard them: “What’s your color?”

“Green.”

Cas froze.

Green, like the eyes he knew were probably clenched closed, given the tension in a now-familiar back. He’d never seen it this vulnerable; he’d never seen it nude, exposed; but he knew it regardless.

The whisper of a name was lost in the space against the submissive man’s cry on the first crack of the whip across his buttocks.

“_ Dean _.”


	11. With Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter implies consensual whipping as part of a BDSM scene, though the act isn't written explicitly. Further, the pairing for the act is Dom Benny/Sub Dean. This is the only part of the story in which this pairing appears as anything more than a strong friendship, but I wanted to give a heads-up. What should be taken from the chapter is this: Dean is trying very hard to get into Cas' headspace, because he really, really wants to do a good job.

In all, Dean took seven lashes.

The Dom - whose name, Cas now realized, he’d never managed to get - was confident in his approach and follow-through, had a good snap in his wrist, and could probably land the tip of his whip on a dime if he was of the mind to. Cas registered all of that, but he filed it away in his brain far back behind the fact that  _ Jesus Fuck, that is  _ ** _Dean _ ** _ up there _ .

When it was over, the Dom continued to move with confidence, speaking softly to Dean from behind as he released the restraints, and then keeping a guiding arm around him as he led Dean away from the cross to the side of the room and offered him a fuzzy robe for warmth and comfort. He again said something right against Dean’s ear that Cas couldn’t hear before returning to the cross to clean it properly before leaving the area entirely, returning to the side of the room, and wrapping himself around Dean like the proverbial Big Spoon.

Cas continued to observe their aftercare in a way that he sincerely hoped wasn’t gawking. They laid together like that for awhile - no kissing or affectionate touches, Cas noted curiously, but then, this was probably just a scene partner. Cas didn’t always like to be affectionate with one-off Doms either. But their mouths would move every now and then, presumably sharing thoughts on the scene, and Cas wished like Hell he knew what Dean was saying. Why had he done this? What had he learned from it? Cas had so many questions he was dying to ask, but he knew better than to intrude. For all of his flaunting of his Experienced Sub card, walking up and interrupting aftercare would be an elementary mistake. So he waited, and watched, hoping all the while that he didn’t seem like a creeper.

After about 10 minutes, the Dom said something, and Dean nodded, and then Dean was rolled gently to his front and the robe was pulled away once more to allow the Dom to apply ointment to the places where Dean’s skin was raised from the whip’s unforgiving tongue. His movements remained gentle but sure, tracking with his behavior since the scene began, and Cas felt a tiny pang of regret as realization dawned that he would not be playing with this Dom - or any other - tonight. 

Task completed, he said a final word to Dean, received a nod in reply, and Dean sat up with a wince. They hugged, and then the Dom moved away. His eyes landed on Cas, who rose to his feet for the first time since the scene began. “So?” He greeted. “What did you think?”

“Your skills… are very impressive.” The Dom dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and Cas’ gut twinged. “Any other night, I’d ask you to take me apart. But I— something— has come up.” His eyes darted for a half second behind the man to Dean, and Cas hoped he missed it.

He didn’t. He turned and looked at Dean, then back at Cas, a small smile on his lips and a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Take me at my word, he’s somethin’ special.” Then, with a firm pat to Cas’ shoulder, he was gone, and nothing and no one stood between Dean and Castiel.

“Cas.” He saw Dean’s lips part on his name, though he was still too far away and the word to quiet to reach his ears. He closed the distance between them and sank down onto the floor next to Dean. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I should ask you the same question.” Dean just hummed in answer. “Why, Dean?”

“I wanted— wanted to understand.” He shifted, wincing with the movement. “After you left, I called Benny, and he said, uh. He said I might understand you— or, uh, subs in general, I guess? — better if I spent some time in the role myself.” He looked away from Cas, eyes closed and fists clenching as he admitted with defeat, “It didn’t work, Cas. I— listen, it’s—”

“Wait, Benny? That was Benny? The friend who brought you into this life?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Curious green eyes looked up once more, as if wondering why that was the thread Cas had held onto.

“Just. He’s, uh. I was.” Cas licked his lips, buying a moment to consider his words. “Impressed. He approached me earlier. Any other night, I would have taken his offer.”

“That why you’re here?”

“Dean…” Something in his gut lurched. “I couldn’t ask you to do something that made you uncomfortable, but I— need—”

“What does it feel like to you?” Dean’s interruption and seeming change of subject threw Cas into a bit of a tailspin. His thought process halted, he blinked at Dean several times before opening his mouth to speak again. 

“What does what…?”

“The— the pain. Or… the submission, I guess. What’s it like for you?”

“Ah.” So maybe Dean had gotten something out of this experience after all. “Well here…” he moved his hands gingerly over Dean’s back. “It hurts,” he acknowledged with a shrug. “But here?” Two fingers tapped Dean’s temple. “It’s the most freeing feeling I can imagine. I feel like I’m flying.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t feel that.”

“That’s because you didn’t get into the right headspace. You weren’t… You’re not a sub, Dean, and you’re sure as hell not a masochist, I could’ve told you that, just based off of the few conversations we’ve had.”

“And you said I’m not a Dom either, right? So where does that leave me? Just some freak who likes to tie his partner up, get his way in bed.” The clear defeat in the slump of his shoulders was a lot to bear.

“Dean.” Cas bit his lip and looked at Dean, hard and unblinking, but said nothing else until Dean was looking back up at him again. “The fact that you’re here, that you cared enough to try to put yourself in my shoes, to understand the root of my desires, it’s…” A harder bite to his lip, hard enough to draw blood. “I may have been wrong.”

“What’re you saying, Cas?”

“If… if you still want to… we could try. You and me.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded as he stood, extending a hand down to help Dean to his feet. Dean took the offer and hissed all the way up. “Yeah.”


	12. Act 1, Scene 1

They waited until Wednesday, and Dean showed up at the shelter and did his regular volunteer shift entirely as though nothing had changed and he was definitely  _ not  _ planning to have Cas ass-up in his bedroom a few hours later. They exchanged pleasant hellos as Dean walked down the hallway to the kennels and passed Cas’ office. Dean might have winked at him, but that was all. 

As was now a well-established custom, Cas got up from his desk near the end of Dean’s shift. He went across the street for coffee, and when he returned, Dean’s black Impala was nowhere in sight in the parking lot.

But there was no flower and no candy on his desk, either.

He frowned as he walked back into the space, feeling the smallest bit betrayed - until he noticed a note tucked under his keyboard, folded in half with Castiel hastily written across the front.

He opened the note and sank slowly into his chair as he read it.

_ You were expecting your regular gift _ , it said.  _ But this is no regular day. You can have it later _ .

Cas smirked in spite of himself. Yeah, Dean was going to be just fine. He’d make some submissive very happy someday.

He tried to pretend his stomach didn’t turn sour at that thought as he tucked the note into his jeans pocket and went back to reviewing dossiers for the animals currently in his shelter’s care. Charlie managed Web site updates, but he was responsible for regular stat keeping regarding their adoption rates, and that often lent itself to a review of the names and faces of his current residents.

His mouse hovered over the face of an older collie mix, and he sighed.  _ Kaia _ , the tag read. He was all too familiar - he’d seen her name and face every time he’d completed this stats check. She’d been at the shelter since before he’d arrived, and time and again he’d watched her get passed over in favor of someone younger, more spirited, less shy.

He got up from his desk and walked back to Kennel 1, where Kaia had lived for going on four months. He sat down in front of her kennel and patted his leg. “Hey, girl.” She came up and sniffed his open palm curiously, then looked at him with a bit of betrayal in her eyes. He laughed softly. “No, sorry. No treat today. Maybe tomorrow. Ughhh… Would that I could take you home. Maybe someday, huh? When I get my own place? ‘Course, your time’s going to come any day. Someone’s going to walk right in and say…  _ that one. Her, I want her. _ And they’ll take you to your forever home, and you’ll forget all about me.” She let out a quiet whine and laid down, head resting on her front paws, but eyes still cast upward expectantly, as though she still hadn’t given up hope about the treat. “Tell me something. What do you think of Dean?”

Kaia sat up eagerly at Dean’s name, eyes lighting up and tail wagging, as much as she ever did that kind of thing, and it drew another chuckle from Castiel.

“Yeah, me too. Me… too.”

He slipped his hand into her cage for one last lick and sniff before turning to exit the kennel and return to his desk to finish out his day.

At 5:00, he stood up and almost mechanically went through the close-up process. Both Jo and Charlie were gone already, and he thanked God for small favors at that - he really didn’t feel in any sort of mood for idle chit-chat about his evening plans.

After a last check of the kennels (and a slipped treat to Kaia), he powered down his computer, turned off the lights, locked up, and drove home. Just like any other night.

Except it  _ wasn’t  _ just like any other night.

He’d been home just long enough to slip out of his work clothes and into a white tank and the same lounge pants he’d worn the previous Wednesday before his doorbell rang. “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself, and with a bite of his lip, he returned to the kitchen and pulled the door open for Dean. “Hello Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean looked… nervous. It was a complete 180 from this man who had been so self-assured upon their first meeting. “You, uh. You just gonna stand there grinning at me, or are you gonna let me in?”

Cas flushed hot at that and stepped back, allowing Dean entry and locking the door behind him.

OK, so apparently Dean wasn’t the only nervous one, here.

“So,” Dean said, clicking his tongue and swinging his arms around casually, as though stretching his muscles to fill the empty conversation.

“So…” Cas agreed. He looked at Dean. Looked down. Bit his lip. Looked back up through his lashes. “Listen, we don’t have to, uh—”

“The problem is that this isn’t my house,” Dean interrupted abruptly. “So I don’t know where anything is, and I couldn’t exactly set this scene up ahead of time, so it’s got me a little jittery. I didn’t want to be jittery for you, but I, uh…” He trailed off, and was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat to continue. “So here’s what I want from you,” he started slowly, as though he was still thinking it over. “Two glasses of water, one for each of us, on the table. I’m going to sit here and enjoy mine while you get yourself ready. Go into your room, get your toys, and lay them out here on the table so that I can consider my options. Then go back to your room, remove your shirt — just your shirt, not your pants — kneel on the floor, and wait for me.” He locked eyes with Cas, gaze hopeful, searching for approval. “What do you say?”

“I—” Cas cleared his throat. He could still back out, but this held a lot of promise. A lot more than he had expected, if he was honest. Cas couldn’t deny that he still  _ wanted something _ out of this encounter. “Yes Sir.”

Dean nodded, and Cas dove into his tasks. Water was easy. Presenting his toys to Dean, though… the realism of what they were about to do settled in as he laid out the two canes he hadn’t shared on Dean’s previous visit, and Dean’s fingers danced over the edge of one. Would Dean choose that? Did he know how to use it? Would he— Did Cas trust—

“You look tense.”

“I’m nervous.”

“But these are all yours. You know how each of them feels on your skin or in your body, right?” Cas licked his suddenly very dry lips and nodded. “Cas I… ” There was a sigh; Cas couldn’t bear to look up. He kept his eyes focused on the tabletop. “I’ll make my choices, but I’ll tell you what my plan is before I lay a hand on you. Is that fair?”

“More than fair,” he croaked. “It’s— you should always discuss what you’re going to do before you do it, anyway. That’s good practice, and I… yes. Thank you, Sir.”

Dean nodded. “Go on, then.”

Cas returned to his room and stripped his shirt off over his head as instructed, folding it and setting it neatly on his dresser before taking up the requested kneeling position beside his bed. 

The comfort that came with kneeling settled on Cas’ shoulders like a familiar old blanket. He let his mind drift as much as it wanted; he closed his eyes, and if he focused, he could hear Dean moving around in the kitchen. Long minutes passed like that, in silence except for Dean’s movements in the front of the house, and Cas gave himself over completely to the meditative state of it. His breathing evened out, his eyelids drooped, and soon he lost the need to strain his ears to track Dean’s movements — so completely, in fact, that he missed Dean entering the bedroom and only became aware of the other man’s presence when his hands fell gently on Cas’ shoulders. “You like being on your knees,” Dean observed in a soft tone.

“I find it relaxing.”

“Clearly.” Dean hummed and massaged Cas’ shoulders a bit with his hands before speaking again. “Castiel, I gotta be honest. I think you’re an amazingly beautiful specimen of humanity, and I want to do all sorts of filthy things to your body. But… I’ve had a lot of time to think about you — because I do, OK, I think about you a lot, in case you didn’t realize — and I keep going back to that first night. And now that we’re here… now that  _ you’re  _ here, fucking  _ finally…  _ I don’t want to fuck this up. Hell, Cas, if you called it off and kicked me out right now, to hell with my ego, I don’t think my  _ heart  _ could take it. So we’ll do what you want. We’ll go very… very slow. Nothing that happens tonight is going to be sexual. Understood?”

Cas’ breath hitched in surprise, but he nodded.

“I think I’m supposed to ask you to use your words,” he coaxed, and Cas cleared his throat.

“Understood.”

“Good. In fact, while we’re on the subject, you should know that I have no intention of making this about sex at all until you ask.” His right hand came down firm like a gavel on Cas’ shoulder, and then he was whispering against Cas’ ear. “ _ Nicely _ . Begging, maybe. Meanwhile…” Dean straightened up again and walked to the bed, where Cas now noticed he’d set a couple of things down. “You like pain. I can deliver pain. If you trust me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Dean clucked his tongue at that. “It’s not the same.” This was mumbled, possibly not meant for Cas’ ears, but he’d heard it anyway and it jolted him a little before Dean’s movement back toward the bed grabbed Cas’ attention. He watched as Dean picked up the rug beater loop that he’d taken an interest in the week before and grasped it firmly by the handle. “I’m gonna give you my hand, first, because I like the feel of skin on skin, and hey, I’m not getting off, right? So I want that, and I think that’s fair. Agreed?”

“Yessir.” Fuck. The tone and cadence of Dean’s voice right now was 100 percent Dominant, and Cas could feel himself giving in to it already, eyes slipping closed, body relaxing, words slurring together. But he perked his ears up, because Dean was still speaking. 

“Then this.” He lifted the rug beater in front of Cas’ face. “I was thinking, we both seemed to like it the other day, so I figure it’s a nice safe place to start. Fine?”

“Fine,” Cas echoed with a minute nod of his head.

“And then… I want something other than your ass in play, here, and I feel like you want that too, because otherwise it’s basically a glorified spanking, right? So I grabbed these.” Nipple clamps. Cas knew what it was going to be even before Dean put them in front of his face. Cas had several sets, but these were his favorites - snug with a lead chain that stemmed from the middle of the single chain that held the clamps, so that a Dominant could keep control and pull and tug at his whim. Cas shivered as he looked up into Dean’s eyes, and the other man’s face split in a Cheshire grin. “You like these.”

“Very much.”

“Well good. Glad… glad to see I can do something right. Keep you in my good graces.” His smile quirked in one corner into something vaguely prideful. “Well then. Let’s get started.”

Dean moved behind him out of sight, and Cas drew a last calming breath before he felt the pull and pinch of the first nipple clamp.

His eyes slid closed and he gave himself over to sub space easily, like a warm blanket was being pulled over him by a trusted friend. 

He was floating, tethered just barely to consciousness, his safeword at the ready, but not anywhere near his lips.


	13. In Deeper

When the scene was over, Cas was fuzzy and floating, and as sub space faded away and he returned to himself, he reveled in the delicious burn and pull and ache that coursed through his body. It was as near to Heaven as he’d been in a damn while. Dean  _ could  _ do this. He  _ could  _ be a Dom, he really—

“I feel like I should, um…”

He would have laughed, if he wasn’t so strung out. As it was, Cas was sure he felt a half-smile tug at the left corner of his lips. Of course. Now that the kinky part was done, Dean’s novelty and awkwardness were coming to the forefront. He’d never done this before - not properly, anyway - and Cas could hazard a guess that Dean’s only experience with aftercare had been on the receiving end, with his friend Benny at the club in Kansas City.

“Aftercare,” he murmured, then cleared his throat softly and tried again, but he could hear the gravel in his own voice even on the second attempt. “The word you’re looking for. It’s  _ aftercare _ .”

“Right. So uh— Shit. Hold on. Just. Are you OK for a hot minute? I have something for you, but I’m kinda— I left it in my car. Outside.”

The clarification on the location of Dean’s car was  _ adorable _ , and Cas found himself smiling even more widely. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

“OK. Great. I’ll, uh. I’ll— be— right back.”

Cas just nodded, and Dean gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and looked back over his shoulder with a hint of concern as before he left. Cas waited until he heard the front door close behind Dean before making his way into the bathroom.

He did have to pee, that was true - but it took his dick a minute to work that out because he was also hard as a rock. He hissed as he squeezed his erection to relieve some of the pressure, and shook it a bit and moved his feet to check circulation in an effort to get his body thinking about something other than pain and pleasure and Dean Dean Dean—

“Cas? You OK?”

Shit. Fuck. “Ah… yeah. I’m— I’m fine. Just a minute.” It was through sheer force of will that he convinced his dick it was going to do its damn job, and when he’d finished relieving himself, he flushed and washed and then there was Dean, standing in his bedroom holding a single red rose and a chocolate bar, looking a bit abashed to be faced with Cas in all his naked and half-erect glory.

Cas did what he deemed in his post-scene haze to be the best course of action within the bounds of their current relationship: He ignored his dick entirely.  _ After all _ , he reminded it internally, _ I got exactly what I asked for, didn’t I? _

“You OK?” Dean asked again. He was still standing there next to the bed, holding the flower and candy and looking every bit like a lost little boy.

“Yeah, I just— sometimes, I…”

Dean cleared his throat, and if Cas’ eyes weren’t very much mistaken, the other man was blushing. “So uh. These— these are for you.”

Bless Dean for his ability to be tactful. A month ago Cas never would have thought him capable, but then, Dean seemed to be full of surprises. He smiled shyly as he stepped forward to take them and then set them both on the nightstand as he sat on the edge. “You’re so…”

“Predictable? Lame?”

“I was going to say  _ thoughtful _ ,” Cas supplied.

“Oh?” Dean, after another moment of hesitation, came and sat down next to Cas on the side of the bed. He reached for the candy bar, opened it, and broke off a piece, which he offered to Cas.

Cas took the proffered chocolate and bit into it. “I had  _ thought  _ you were predictable, that night that we first met. Lame, maybe, too. Just… like the others. But you’re not. You’re different.” He reached for the chocolate and broke off another piece. This piece, he broke in two, and offered one piece to Dean while putting the other into his mouth. “I regret that I didn’t see that.”

“Yeah, well I… I mean, you weren’t wrong, I don’t think. I  _ was  _ like the others. Still am, a little, I just…” He sighed. “Benny and me, we had a long talk one night about why he does this, and after that I was up all night, thinkin’... ‘bout you, ‘bout this whole thing. And I realized, I could either chase tail or I could chase you. I couldn’t do both.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Chasing me?”

Dean shrugged, and then reached up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “Maybe? I dunno, Cas, I…” He stood up. “I guess I figured, at the very least, you could show me how to not be an asshole the next time I try to pick someone up at one of those things.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully. He picked up the rose and drew a long breath of it. “This chat with Benny… was that before or after I ran into you in KC?”

“Before.”

“I figured.”

Dean didn’t reply. They sat in silence for a bit while Cas finished his candy bar, occasionally sniffing the rose. When he was finished, he set the rose down on his nightstand and stood up. “For what it’s worth,” he said, searching out Dean’s eyes before he continued, “I enjoyed myself immensely tonight.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Yes, really.” He nodded and stretched his face into a smile. “I would like to scene with you again… that is,” he cleared his throat, “if you’re willing.”

“I— yeah, Cas. Of course I’m…” Dean stood now too, and when he pulled to his full height Cas enjoyed the way his body and mind felt naturally submissive to the slightly taller man beside him. It was the feeling he’d had all along, he realized — but now it didn’t put him on edge. “Next week?”

“Next week,” Cas agreed with a nod.

There was a long, awkward pause — too long, Cas realized, because neither of them was quite sure how to end this. Cas turned abruptly on that thought and walked out front, unsurprised to hear Dean follow. “Thank you, Dean. This has been… quite enjoyable.”

“I’m glad, Cas.” Not  _ me too, Cas _ … but maybe Cas was a fool to have expected that sort of reception from a man who wasn’t a sadist by nature. He bit back a sigh. 

“Oh, Dean?” They were at the threshold, Dean already stepping out the door with one foot, so the callback was so cliche that Cas had to physically force himself not to roll his eyes. “Um. Aftercare is— what you did, that was perfect. I don’t, uh.” He paused.  _ This isn’t about you. It’s about teaching Dean to be a good Dom overall _ , he reminded himself. “It’s best to ask up front what a sub wants for aftercare. Before the scene,” he clarified, because if this was going to be fucking awkward, they might as well both be lame nerds about it. “I’m sorry, I should have offered my preferences.”

“Naw, it’s fine, Cas.”

“No, it’s— it’s important. Sometimes your subs won’t be able to come down enough to tell you at the end, so you need to ask, and specify if there’s anything that helps you, that you want to do.”

“So for you, what I did… that was… OK?”

“For me, yes. For us, for our history, it was perfect. Others, though— cuddling. People like cuddling. I’m not— I don’t. I mean sometimes but— generally not. Also, you’ll want to check for any broken skin if you’ve— if the scene is such that it might have happened— and be prepared to treat those wounds.” Dean’s wince at that was miniscule, but Cas saw it regardless. “Sometimes a bath, or a special bathrobe, or water or fruit.”

Dean stared at him,  _ through  _ him, for so long that Cas wasn’t sure if maybe he should say more. But then Dean shook himself back to the present, eyes blinking to focus and hold Cas’ gaze. “But for you,” he asked, clear and determined. “For you, this was good.”

“Yes. It was— Dean, for me, for us, it was perfect. Thank you.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you next week, Cas.”

And then he turned, and got back into his car, and he was gone.

Cas stood in his doorway, staring after him until long after the vapor trails from his car had disappeared.


	14. What You Don't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for sub drop, and as part of that, negative self-talk.

On Thursday morning, Cas woke up alone and tried to tell himself he was OK with that. He laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus the remnants of last night’s scene still coursing through his body.

But his head rolled to the right, and there was no one there, and it felt empty and cold in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.

He sighed and rolled out of bed, heading straight for the shower, where he stood under the spray for much too long, hoping the water would feel just a little painful on his abused skin.

It did not. 

He was crashing. He knew the signs, knew the sinking feeling in his gut, and there was no denying it. He was crashing  _ hard _ .

But why? He shook his head hard, still standing under the spray of the shower. He’d lost track of how long he’d been there, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Rock bottom was rushing up to meet him like it was on a suicide mission.

_ You know what you need to do _ .

“Jesus Christ, no,” he grumbled at the voice, because just… no.  _ No _ . This wasn’t the way he and Dean were going to do things. They saw each other once a week. They worked at the shelter and now maybe they’d be regular scene partners,  _ maybe _ . But they weren’t a couple and they weren’t even really friends and there was  _ no way _ .

When he stepped out of the shower, he noted the 45-minute lapse in time and rolled his eyes at himself. “Get it together, Novak,” he told his reflection as he settled into brushing his teeth.

Except that it was really hard to brush his teeth with a permanent lump in his throat.

He got the bottom ones half-brushed before spitting in the sink and surrendering to the drop. 

He stared out across the threshold between his ensuite bathroom and his bedroom, and his nose wrinkled in disgust at his bed. It was cold, too big, and maybe he did need to cry but there was no way he was going back to that cold, empty bed to do it.

Instead, he sank down on the bathroom floor with his back against the vanity, knees pulled to his chest, and buried his face in his hands.

He wasn’t the type who cried loud or long, and really, in the time that he sat there on the bathroom floor, he wasn’t so much  _ crying  _ as he was letting himself accept who he was and what he needed to do. A few tears slipped out, and he tried to keep his breathing even as the horrible thoughts slid across his mind unbidden:  _ Weakling. Wimp. What kind of baby are you that you think you gotta call up that Dom who beat on you last night and ask him for more? He was doing you a favor then, probably wants nothing to do with— _

He cut off that voice in particular with a harsh push up off the floor to retrieve his cell phone from the nightstand. He pushed the “call” button with a vengeance.

It rang two… three times, and Cas thought maybe Dean wasn’t going to pick up. But then, “Hello? Cas?”

He couldn’t find his voice; his throat was dry and the lump of tears was still threatening. As it was, one slipped out without permission and he angrily brushed it away with his free hand. 

“Cas, you there?”

“I— Hello Dean.”

There was quite a bit of commotion behind Dean, but it seemed to be fading and Cas could imagine Dean, wherever he was, walking away from a crowd in order to hear Cas better.  _ You’re an inconvenience. He’s busy _ .

“Cas, you OK? You sound… uh. Not.”

“I’m— no, I’m— I’m sorry to have disturbed you. You’re clearly busy, I’m—”

“Busy? No—” Dean laughed lightly, and in spite of his current situation, Cas’ mouth curved up into a tiny smile at the sound. “That’s just my family.”

“They’re… loud.”

“Let’s call it  _ boisterous _ .” He could hear Dean smiling, if he concentrated. His heart rate started to slow, and a warm calm began seeping in through his pores. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath through his nose, and focused on the sound of Dean’s voice. “Opinionated, maybe, too,” he added after a moment. “Sorry. Rather intense debate about the heat of sauces happening back there.”

“Heat… of…?” Cas shook his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean laughed again, faithfully pulling Cas’ smile wider once again. “Ah. Yeah. We, uh. You ever heard of The Bunker?”

“Uh.”

“ _ No _ ? Man… you gotta get out more. This weekend, how about you come down, I’ll treat you to a real barbeque, Kansas City Style. Even though this isn’t technically, uh, Kansas City.”

“So… it’s a restaurant.”

“Brew pub,” Dean corrected. “Specialized in beer and the best damn baby back ribs this side o’ the Mississippi. Started by my great-grandad on my pops’ side, handed on down through the line. Sammy ‘n me run it now, with a little help from our mom, and some friends.”

“I thought you said it was your family?”

“I did, didn’t I? All the same to me, I guess.” There was still a smile in his tone. “Anyway, I— listen, I meant what I said, alright? Saturday. Come down here, be my special guest. I’ll give you the grand tour and stuff you so full of meat you won’t—” he stopped cold, seemingly catching himself on the verge of innuendo. “I mean. I’ll, uh.” He was quiet, almost too quiet, when he spoke again. “It’ll be fun,” he said. “You should come.”

“What time?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“That sounds wonderful, Dean. I’ll be there.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.” Dean paused again. “So… what, uh. What was it you called about?”

Cas considered his options for a reply. “I think I don’t know exactly,” he went with at last. “But I find that I really enjoy talking with you.”

“Me too, Cas. I’m— listen, I gotta go, but you take care of yourself, OK? And I mean it. Saturday, 7:00. You’ll be here.”

“I’ll be there.”

He hung up, a true smile now lighting his face.

He stood, stretched, and listened for the voices. There were none.

With a quick text to Charlie that he was running late, Cas dove into his closet and hastily dressed.

If he hurried, he could still be on time for work.


	15. Family Friendly

Dean had been modest when he’d said he owned a “brew pub.” This place was on another level entirely from any brew pub Cas had ever set foot inside.

Physically, it was on another level in that it was underground, as in  _ built under the ground _ . The brewery was visible above ground, but the pub was accessible most easily by way of a cement staircase leading down to a brick exterior, both of which looked like they hadn’t been renovated in generations - and yet somehow showed just the right amount of wear for a rustic-industrial appearance. There were tables outdoors on that “ground” level, which Cas supposed could technically be considered “rooftop seating,” and an outdoor bar adjacent, with a stage that looked like it might sometimes host local musical talent.

Cas took all of this in before descending the stairs to reach the main underground entry. 

It was loud and crowded inside, but clean, and the industrial theme continued throughout the lobby and underground bar, and into the dining area, which appeared to be designed for family-style dining, with long, wooden tables and bench seating. It reminded Cas of a big family picnic, but indoors, under the ground, with a bustling bar at the front.

He glanced around and spotted a woman with short blond hair at the host station. She had a warm smile and he made his way to her, glancing at his watch on the way. 6:57. He hoped Dean wasn’t as much of a stickler for time as some of his previous Dominants.

“Welcome!” The woman greeted him, smile open and friendly. “You headed to the bar, or can I get you a table?”

“Uh, I’m actually— I’m meeting someone. Uh. Is Dean—”

“Cas!” Cas looked up, and there he was, making his way over from the bar as he wiped his hands on a rag. “Hey! I was just coming up to make sure Mom wasn’t giving you the third degree out here.”

The hostess — Dean’s mother, apparently — brought her right hand to her hip and turned an offended look on Dean. “I would  _ never _ !”

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Cas, this is Mary Winchester. My mother. Mom… this is Castiel.”

She glanced from her son to Cas and back again, a knowing look on her face. “Mmmhmmm. You got a bar to tend, Dean Winchester. Sam’s smarter than to let you off the hook on a Saturday night. You leave him hanging, it’ll be your hide.”

Dean rolled his eyes again and motioned Cas further into the restaurant. Cas looked back and met Mary Winchester’s eyes, seeing a hint of trepidation there. “It was nice to meet you,” he offered as earnestly as he could before Dean pulled him along and he was swallowed by a rowdy crowd.

“So. Welcome to the Bunker. Winchester family owned since like… forever. C’mon, I’ll get you set up at the bar with somethin’ to drink, and then I’ll feed you.” He waved Cas onward, and Cas followed, eyes roaming around to soak in the decor. He stopped when Dean did, and let himself indulge in preening a bit as Dean’s hand rested at the small of his back. “Most of the immediate family goes into management, but… the books, the office, they’re not for me. I spend most of my nights behind this bar, and on weekends, I get Sam’s help. Yo, Sam!” 

A tall, shaggy-haired man with dark eyes looked up from the far side of the wood-top bar at his brother’s call and nodded in acknowledgement, then finished passing a credit card back to a young woman in front of him before tossing a bar rag over his shoulder and making his way to where Dean was ushering Cas up onto a stool. “Cas, this is my brother, Sam. Part-time bartender, part-time CFO, part-time Sasquatch. Sam, Cas. My, uh…” he hesitated.

“Castiel,” Cas offered, reaching a hand over the bar for Sam to shake. “I manage the animal shelter where Dean volunteers.”

“Oh—Ohh! You’re  _ that  _ Castiel!” Cas smiled, sure that this was the first time in his life anyone had ever referred to him as “that” Castiel, as though there might be a million Castiels out there. But it was a really nice change from  _ what kind of name is that? _ And Cas found himself nodding in confirmation as Sam shook his hand enthusiastically. “I don’t know if you know how much Dean loves coming to work down there with you, but man, he won’t shut up about it for like a day afterward. All day Thursday, every week, I swear. Especially this one dog, uh… Kaia?”

Castiel’s ears pricked up and he turned toward Dean with a smile. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

Dean pointed at his brother. “Sam needs a dog.”

“I do not need a dog.”

“Yes, yes you do. You, your wife, your kid, you all need a dog, and you need  _ this  _ dog, I’m telling you, she’s perfect.”

“But Jack—”

“Jack wants a dog. Jess wants a dog.  _ Everybody in that house wants a dog _ , including you, Bitch.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but it died in his throat as a customer called out for him by name from the far end of the bar. Sam’s eyes moved to acknowledge her before looking back at his brother. “Jerk,” he clipped, and then he was gone.

The exchange sat funny with Castiel, and he looked at Dean with concern - only to find the other man smiling fondly at his brother from across the bar, a small chuckle working its way up out of his throat. “Did you just… are you… fighting?”

“What? No! No. That’s just… it’s how Sam and I communicate.”

“By… insulting one another?”

Dean shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times we pound the crap out of each other. Just depends.” He sobered a bit and turned to Castiel with a furrowed brow. “You got brothers, Cas?”

“Three of them.” He sighed. Swallowed. And against his better judgement, leaned closer to Dean as the mention of his family invoked a Pavlovian response to become docile.

“And you guys don’t… I dunno. Play-fight? Rough house?”

“No.” He clammed up, unwilling to say anything more for the time being, but Dean was persistent — and smart.

“It was a God thing, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question at all, but an affirmation. 

“I don’t— Can we—?”

“Sure. But if you wanna talk about it later, you know…”

“I know.”

Dean nodded and let the subject drop, jumping behind the bar to change the subject faster than Cas could blink. “Well then, Cas. What can I get you to drink?”

***

Four hours later, The Bunker was closed and Cas was feeling just a bit fuzzy on four very excellent beers. Dean grabbed his own bottle of pilsner and clanked it against Cas’ as he plopped onto the barstool next to him. 

“So,” Dean said, and Cas just smiled at him, so Dean smiled back.

Cas clinked their bottles again. 

Dean laughed, head dipping a bit bashfully. “Was this OK?”

“I had fun, Dean. Your family has a nice place here.”

“I’m, uh. I’m really glad you think so.” He took a long pull from his beer, and just as he was setting it back down on the bartop, there was a bit of commotion and the banging of a couple of doors as Sam came out of the kitchen, followed by a woman and two men - one of whom was instantly familiar to Cas. He felt his cheeks warming and he turned his face toward Dean, and watched as Dean’s cheeks pinked up in turn. “Cas, this is the kitchen crew. That’s, uh, Ellen, and Ash, and… Benny. Y’all, this is Castiel.” Dean gave him a fond look, and Cas dipped his chin a bit in spite of himself. “If I have it my way, you’ll be seein’ a lot more of him around here, so be nice.” 

They offered their greetings, and Ellen and Ash bugged out, but Benny stepped close and made eye contact and for just half a second, Cas worried this wasn’t going to end well. But the other man’s face broke into a smile and he offered his hand to shake. Cas took it after a moment’s hesitation. “Castiel,” he said, voice friendly and even, without a hint of dominance, “He treatin’ you right? You know what I mean.”

“He is. I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

“You’re a rare find, Castiel. Dean gives you any trouble, you let me know.”

“All due respect, Benny, I’m not—”

“Not so I can have a go at you.” Benny shot a look at Dean as the corners of his mouth turned up. “So I can whoop his ass.” Then he patted Cas’ shoulder firmly, gave Dean a one-armed hug, and ducked out. Sam lingered a moment longer before exchanging a meaningful look with his brother.

“Be sure to lock up,” he said, eyebrows raised as he headed for the door.

And then they were alone.

The pub seemed awfully big when it was empty.

“So,” Dean said.

“So,” Cas agreed.

“That was sub drop the other morning, wasn’t it? When you called.”

Cas nodded an affirmative. “It happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Dean was silent for a long time, taking sips from his beer and leaning against the bartop. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Another long silence, in which Dean polished off his beer in a single long pull. Then he turned on his stool to face Cas, waiting until he had full eye contact to speak. “You don’t want to talk about a lot of things,” he observed. When Cas just drank from his bottle to finish it off and didn’t respond, Dean nodded decisively. “Next time, I’ll call you first.”


	16. Deserving

Medical professionals - and most humans - looked at pain as a spectrum: Paper cuts were nasty, but it was nothing in comparison to, say, breaking a leg. All of it was bad, it was just a matter of  _ how  _ bad.

And Cas could see that, too - there was absolutely nothing pleasurable about a paper cut or breaking a leg, and one was certainly more painful than the other by comparison. But he, like most true masochists, took pain off its sliding scale and divided it into two types: Good pain and bad pain. And just like the sliding scale, everyone’s lists were different.

In Castiel’s Book of Masochistic Tendencies, paper cuts and breaking a leg were both Bad Pain.

Being punched with a closed fist or pricked with needles, regardless of where they fell on the sliding scale, were definitely very firmly in Cas’  _ Bad Pain _ category. These were things that yanked him out of sub space, inspired fear, and had him scrambling for his safe word in a damn hurry. They  _ hurt _ .

And then there was  _ good pain _ . Paddling, whipping, the bite of ropes gone a little frayed… those were definitely all good pain in Cas’ book. They hurt the  _ right  _ way. They brought all his nerve endings to life. They let him shout and cry and channel his feelings and emotions through his mind and out into the universe. And sometimes, too, because his wiring was apparently all kinds of fucked up, the pain traveled south in his body and somewhere along the line it became pleasure. He’d never been entirely sure what caused the sexual reaction - only that it didn’t always happen, and that when it did, it usually faded after the scene. He didn’t fantasize about pain when he masturbated. Rough sex, sure. In his fantasies he always bottomed. He stroked himself harder to the idea of being manhandled and held down, of being marked with teeth and bruises. But that was the naturally submissive part of him - his masochistic tendencies were not, and had never been, overtly sexual.

God, the voice in his head sounded so much like his therapist. 

But the point was, right now? Right now he was naked on his knees in front of Dean, and they’d barely started the scene, but Dean was slapping his face and now he was pulling his hair and speaking to him rather sternly and  _ fuck _ , Cas was hard. Already.

The way he was laid bare to Dean’s eyes, there was no way the Dom didn’t notice.

As if to make Cas’ point for him, Dean pulled Cas’ head back harshly. “Look at me,” he said. 

Cas did, and  _ when  _ he did, he saw the green of Dean’s eyes nearly fully eclipsed by the black of his pupils and felt a hot rush of air on his face as Dean’s nostrils flared with a harsh exhale. “Now listen. Every fiber of my being wants to yank you to your feet, throw you on the bed, kiss your lips swollen, and fuck you until we both come apart. But I won’t do that.” He gave a slight shake of his head for emphasis. He didn’t let go of Cas’ hair, either. “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on between us, it’s the best thing I’ve had in a damn while, so I ain’t gonna blow it, you hear me? I’m not gonna turn tables on you in the middle of a scene. I said what I said, that I’m not touching your dick until you ask me to. Means I just gotta ask you before we keep goin’ — what should we do about that?” He nodded toward Cas’ erection, and Cas clenched his eyes closed, feeling equal parts ashamed and aroused.

_ Touch me _ , his mind pleaded.  _ Please, show me the affection I know you have inside you, or tear me apart, I don’t care at this point I just want your hands on me, please… _

“In the top drawer of my dresser, there’s a cock cage,” he said instead, swallowing hard over the lump forming in his throat because  _ I don’t deserve his tenderness, I don’t deserve the pleasure I get from him, this is too much, it’s too much _ . “That’s— it’ll do the job.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, hand still tangled in Castiel’s hair. “Why?” He asked at last.

“ _ Because! _ ” He knew there were tears in his eyes. He didn’t care. “Because that’s what this is, that’s our arrangement, that’s what I d—” He cut himself off, and in the next breath, Dean released his hold on Cas’ hair like he’d been burned.

“What you  _ what _ ?” he challenged. “What you  _ deserve _ ?” Cas didn’t respond, except to drop his eyes to the floor. “Answer me, boy!”

“What I  _ need _ , it’s what I  _ need _ !” Cas looked back up, but he couldn’t quite meet Dean’s eyes, because he didn’t know what he’d see there and he was too afraid to find out. He whispered, “ _ Please _ ,” but he kept his vision skewed slightly to the right, away from the glare of the man above him. 

In the long silence that followed, Cas thought for certain that Dean was going to call it off. A safeword was on his own lips as it was, because he clearly wasn’t in the right mindset for this scene.

And yet he swallowed it back, because every fiber of his being was screaming at him that whatever happened next, he didn’t want Dean to leave.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean felt the same, and maybe that’s why he got down on his knees so that he was eye level with Cas, and held Cas’ chin firm between his hands so that Cas had no choice but to look him in the eye. “We’ll finish this scene,” he said, “and I’m not going to get you off. But if you need to, you, uh. You have my… permission.” Dean licked his lips like he was tasting that word.  _ Permission _ . Like granting it marked some major milestone on his initiation into Dom-hood. There was another long moment of silence, and then Dean was fisting Cas’ hair again, yanking Cas’ head back and drawing a scream from his lips. “Screaming already? But we’re just getting started.” He let go and moved behind Cas. “Hands and knees. Now.  _ Now _ !”

Cas scrambled to comply, and relished in the feel of Dean’s palm coming down across his ass, hard and decisive, and then screamed again as the blows continued in an unforgiving litany: Left, right, left, left, right, and on and on until Cas lost count and tumbled over the edge into sub space.

He was aware of the spanking coming to an end, and of a soft cloth being placed over his eyes— a blindfold. Dean was blindfolding him. He smiled in spite of his position. Sensory deprivation ranked pretty high on Cas’ kink-o-meter, pain or no. And then Dean said, “Back on your knees,” and Cas was confused, because for one thing, he’d come into this scene expecting a hell of a lot more of a beating, and Dean was going off-script; for another thing, Dean’s voice came from right in front of him, rather than behind. “Did I stutter, boy?” Dean barked, and yep, he was close enough that Cas could feel his breath across his lips. He sat back on his knees as instructed.

Cas’ heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sure his confusion was evident on his face.

And then Dean bit him.

He screamed, back arching in agony as Dean’s mouth latched onto his left shoulder blade and sucked and bit without mercy. He couldn’t tell if the skin was broken or not, but it didn’t matter. Once Dean was satisfied at whatever mark he’d left, he moved to the meat of that same shoulder and latched on again, all teeth and suction and no tender licks to stay the tide. Again, on Cas’ left hip. Again, on his right thigh. Again, on the left shoulder, and then a break and some shifting and when Dean bit into his left ass cheek just at the place where it met his thigh, that’s when Cas lost it. He came without Dean ever touching his dick, crying out in a new octave of pain and pleasure. 

Dean didn’t let up, and Cas’ nerves were beyond frayed by the time the Dom had finished his work, adding another mark to the left ass cheek further up and two matching ones on the right before he deemed it finished.

The blindfold fell away. Cas blinked at the light suddenly blinding him, and he started to sink onto the floor in satisfaction, but Dean held him up by his shoulders. “Castiel,” he murmured. 

“Yes Sir?” Cas couldn’t manage more than a whisper.

“Do you believe you deserve what I’ve done to you?”

Cas stared at him.  _ What? Why?  _ But in some foggy corner of his mind, he knew. This was to be a turning point, then. Where they would go from here, or if they went at all, depended on Cas’ response. “ _ Please _ .”

“I don’t enjoy hurting you.” Cas’ heart nearly shattered at the words. But then Dean’s tone changed as he moved his right hand up to cup Cas’ cheek. “ _ But. _ I do very much enjoy seeing you satisfied. Are you?”

“I… yes Sir.”

Dean just nodded, holding Cas’ head for another beat before he helped Cas to his feet and up onto the bed. Like last time, there was water and chocolate and a fresh-cut rose. Unlike last time, there were firm hands rubbing ointment into his abused skin at the bite marks, none of which had broken the skin, but all of which would hurt like hell for days. There was a warm, wet cloth being handed to him to clean his genitals. And there was a warm pair of arms pulling him in to be the little spoon, holding him gently, for so long that he drifted off to sleep.

Two hours later, he woke up to the same warmth and the same pair of arms. “Dean?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re still here.”

“Didn’t want to disturb you.” A pause. “Still don’t.”

“Stay?”

“‘Course.”

Satisfied, Cas drifted back to sleep.


	17. Something's Happening Here

When Cas opened his eyes again, it was dark in the room and dark outside, but Dean was still beside him - asleep, and snoring softly. He smiled at that. He could lay here, he supposed, and study Dean’s features in that romantic way that people always do in movies when they’re accidentally falling in love. He really could.

But this wasn’t that… was it? He wasn’t falling in love with Dean, and Dean wasn’t there because he was falling in love with Castiel. Dean was there because the last time he’d left right after a scene, Cas had gone into a drop. Dean was just marking off the boxes on his “Good Dominant” checklist by making sure Cas was OK.

And he _ was _OK, mostly. Except for the part where he was maybe falling for Dean, and there was no way those feelings would ever be reciprocated. Even if they were, it wouldn’t last. It’d eventually turn sour, and Cas would just stand to be hurt again. Emotional pain. It was the worst kind of hurt, off the scale, top of Cas’ no-go list.

Before he could spend any more time staring at Dean’s face and being morose, Cas slid carefully out of bed to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. Business taken care of, he grabbed his robe off the hook on his door and padded to the front of the house. He drank a glass of water and turned the lights out in the kitchen.

The clock on the microwave read 10:26. Not terribly late, and he was sure Dean didn’t want to spend the whole night sleeping in his clothes. 

He walked back to the bedroom, intent on taking a quick shower and dressing for bed before he woke Dean. But a soft, “Hey,” met his ears as soon as he closed the bedroom door behind himself, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“Hey,” he replied. “Thanks for staying.”

Dean let out a soft hum in response.

“You, uh. I’m OK. You could go now, if you wanted. Really.”

“You sure?”

“I was just going to shower, and I uh.” Why were their partings always so awkward? He internally rolled his eyes at himself. “Yes. I’m fine.”

It was a long moment before Dean shifted to his feet and came to meet Cas near the foot of the bed. When he did, he took one of Cas’ hands and looked into his eyes for a long moment. “If you’re _ not _fine, you call me. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.” There was another long pause, like maybe Dean was going to say something else but was hesitating.

This time, Cas was the one to break the silence. “Dean I’d like—” it came out a little louder and more eager than he intended. He lowered his tone and repeated, “I’d like to see you again before next Wednesday. To talk about expanding our arrangement, of course. It’s best to do that outside of a scene, as you said earlier, and I think it— I think I’d like to do that.”

Dean’s eyes glinted in the bit of moonlight streaming in through Cas’ bedroom window. He probably wanted to say all kinds of things, but what came out of his mouth was, “Counter offer,” and Cas drew in a sharp breath. “You let me take you on a date.”

“A… date.”

“Yes. Dinner, drinks. Conversation that’ll let us get to know each other better, outside of our… _ arrangement _. And then afterward, we’ll find a quiet spot, and we’ll talk about that expansion, if you still want it.”

“But why?”

Dean tilted his head to study the ceiling for a moment, probably in search of the right words. And then his eyes were locked with Cas’ again. “Because when I first met you, what I thought we’d do is fool around. One night stand, right? Maybe two if I was lucky. But it’s something else now.” A pause. “Don’t you think? And I’m not really sure what that is. Feel like maybe before we push this further, we should figure that out.” 

He could say no, and Dean probably would agree to Cas’ new terms anyway. But God help him, Cas was feeling something for this man that had nothing to do with being a Dom and a sub, and if Dean wanted to take him on a date, then just maybe he was feeling those things too. “OK,” he said finally. “When?”

“Sunday night. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He turned around and swaggered to his car. Cas was sure the extra sway of the hips was for his benefit, and yet he couldn’t look away.

So Dean did want that, then — did want _ him _, that way. His breath hitched and his stomach clenched, emotions poking at nerves frayed beyond repair. 

For all that Cas had a firm handle on his kinks and limits, this was skating the edge of territory far beyond his current markers. Paddling, marking, ice, heat, sensation, hair pulling, make him scream from his gut, he’d take those any day, under a solid contract.

But Dean wanted to go on a date. Dates were soft. They touched emotions. They were the building blocks of bigger things, like feelings and romance and relationships. Warning bells rang in his head — _ DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! _ — but he shook his head to clear them.

This danced on the edge of the worst kind of Bad Pain. But they weren’t there yet. 

***

He’d expected Dean to stick to the basics— Classic Italian, with pasta and red wine, a table for two and quiet, serious conversation. When Dean drove them instead to a local park and led Cas to a picnic blanket and basket by the water that he’d clearly set up earlier, Cas shook his head, considering how much better off he might be if he just stopped underestimating Dean.  
“What?” Dean was laughing, too.

“No, it’s— it’s nothing.” He sat cross-legged to Dean’s left as Dean started pulling sandwiches and salads out of the picnic basket. But Dean was still looking at him expectantly, so Cas dipped his head, abashed. “I was just thinking about how…”

“How…?”

“How much better off I’d be if I stopped underestimating you,” he blurted. His face was hot with the rush of embarrassment, but he looked up to meet Dean’s eyes anyway. “I let my first impression of you jade the way I see you in all things, and that’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

Dean chuckled, but said nothing as he handed Cas a sandwich. “Thanks,” he answered at last.

“What, no snide comments? No jokes?”

“Nah, I…” There was a sigh from Dean, and then he bit into the sandwich in his hand and chewed the bite before continuing his thought. “Seems we both have something to learn about making snap judgements, huh?”

“Guess so.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Sandwiches disappeared and Dean opened a bottle of white wine, pouring two small glasses. He also opened a container that held a fruit salad and held it out to Cas.

Cas made an unconscious decision at that moment, and he’d look back at it later, knowing it was the lynchpin. He took a strawberry out of the bowl, held it between his thumb and forefinger, and offered it to Dean.

Dean bit, surprised, and then closed his eyes and gave a pleased hum — at the fruit or the gesture, Cas couldn’t be sure. Maybe both. When his eyes opened again, he was looking right at Cas, fire blazing in his green pools. 

“I want us to expand our contract,” he said, keeping his tone level, unwilling to let himself hope too much.

“Right to business, huh?” Dean sighed and dusted off his hands. He took a sip of his wine, and Cas mirrored the gesture. “OK. How so?”

“I’m giving you permission to use toys and perform acts on my person that are sexual in nature. And if— if you’d like me to perform acts on you as well, you need only to ask.” He licked his bottom lip and took another sip of wine. “Inside of a scene, of course.” 

“Of course.” Dean looked at him for a moment, and when he spoke again, his demeanor had changed so entirely, Cas felt an emotional whiplash. “Gotta tell you somethin’, Cas,” he said, his tone hovering between a whisper and a cry. “‘Cuz, see, thing is, I… I’m feeling some sort of way about you. And I don’t want to get all Brokeback Mountain here, but I can’t see myself doing this— this kink thing with anyone but you. So as part of this renegotiation, I want— I wanna drop the charade that you’re teaching me to be a Dom for somebody else. Teach me to be a Dom for _ you _ , Cas. Let me be _ your _Dominant.”

“Dean…”

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“You fed me a strawberry. Go ahead and tell me that’s something you do with all your friends, but it’d be a lie and you know it.”

Cas looked away and bit his lip. “I would never say that.” His voice was barely audible to his own ears, so he had to wonder if Dean heard it at all. He gathered his courage for another moment and then looked up to meet Dean’s eyes again. “You barely know anything about me.”

Dean smiled and reached down into the fruit bowl. He took out a handful of blueberries, ate one, and then offered another to Castiel. He held it the same way Cas had held the strawberry, between his thumb and forefinger — but because of its smaller size, Cas had to make contact with Dean’s digits to get the fruit. He shivered at the way the pad of Dean’s thumb felt on his tongue. “I know you’re independent and headstrong. I know you’re prone to snap judgements and sometimes jump to conclusions, but I think that’s a defense mechanism and I’m tryin’ my damndest to break through it.” Dean’s smile was soft. He extended his hand to Cas, another blueberry between his fingers, and Cas didn’t hesitate to take it. “I know you’re willing to give idiots another chance, so you’re either a complete dumbass, or you’ve got a big heart. My money’s on the big heart.”

“Maybe. But it’s also possible that too much heart is exactly my problem.”

“I highly doubt that.” Another fruit — a round of kiwi, this time, and it makes Dean’s fingers slick and juice dribbles down Cas’ chin. “I know you care about the people and the animals at the shelter, and that you can have a perfectly normal conversation with strangers about stray dogs as if you’ve known them all your life. I know you fit in with my family and friends better than you have any right to. And I know that, for reasons I don’t understand, you take pleasure from physical pain.”

“That’s just it,” Cas murmured, still thinking about the kiwi juice on his chin and on Dean’s fingers. “You don’t understand.”

“But do I have to?” Dean’s challenge had Cas blinking and sitting back. He tilted his head to one side, as studying Dean from a new point of view might make his point more clear. “See, I’ve been doing a lot of research, and it seems like my entire role as a Dominant comes down to one thing, and that’s taking care of my submissive. Right?” Cas conceded with a nod. “I thought if I stepped into your shoes, it would all clear itself up, but it backfired because I’m not _ you _. And nobody else is ever gonna be you either.”

Cas’ brow furrowed, and he took a sudden interest in playing with the folds of their picnic blanket with his left hand. “You’ve been doing research?” He asked quietly, deflecting the main subject of conversation for a moment.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m— I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. You told me I was doing it wrong, and that rattled me, so I’ve been— I went to Benny, and he smacked me upside the head, but then after that we… I dunno. We talked, and I read some books, and he pointed me to the good online sources, and I’m— all that time, it’s not that I wanted to learn to be a good Dom for just anybody. Cas, I wanted to learn to be a good Dominant for _ you _.”

Cas’ jaw was slack and it kept moving like he was trying to form words, but he couldn’t make anything come together. His brain was a swirling mess of screaming thoughts and he couldn’t quite grab on to the right ones long enough to fully process them.

He chose the ones that were easiest to reach; the ones that didn’t push them any closer to the Bad Pain of his frayed emotions. “Then as you said. We’ll need to amend the contract.”

“Right.” Dean seemed disappointed, but Castiel held his emotions at bay. He pushed ahead. _ If he’s been doing research _ , Cas reasoned, _ he knows this is important _.

“So far we’ve had a verbal contract based on our mutual kinks. I’d be most comfortable going forward if things were written down. I can draw it up, if you’d like?”

“Whatever you want, Cas.”

“This is important, Dean.”

“I know.”

He sighed. The right words were coming out of Dean’s mouth, but his expression said he was anything but happy about it.

Cas finished his glass of wine and took another strawberry from the bowl, all the while averting Dean’s gaze. He was getting too close, he knew. His emotions were climbing his well-constructed wall, ready to mount a full-on assault on his senses. He tensed his jaw, forcing them back.

“I’ll do that, then,” he said, but his tone now carried a note of resignation, and there was a twinge of regret stirring in his gut. “With points that allow for sexual as well as non-sexual play at your discretion.” He paused. “And an end date,” he added cautiously, glancing at Dean. 

Predictably, the other man raised his eyebrows. “An end date.”

“Yes. A time at which we’ll re-evaluate ourselves and our agreement. It can be extended if we want, or we can choose at that point to terminate the contract and go our separate ways. Say… six weeks?”

Dean looked as if he might object, but whatever he was going to say, he visibly swallowed it back. “Whatever you need to feel comfortable,” he said instead.

“Good. I’ll have something ready for you to look over on Wednesday.”

Dean just nodded and popped the rest of the blueberries from his hand into his mouth. “Wednesday,” he said, eyes on something in the distance. But after he swallowed the remaining fruit, he took his wine glass and raised it in a toast to Castiel. “To the possibilities.”

Cas took a deep breath. “To possibilities.”


	18. About a Dog

On Wednesday, Dean arrived for his regular dog walking shift with his brother in tow. Cas knew this because Dean made a point of sticking his head in Cas’ office to announce it. “Sam’s getting a dog,” he said.

Cas’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh?”

Sam looked exasperated, and Cas had to give him points for the little-brother bitchface he pulled as he threw up his hands. “I’m not— I’m just—” He rolled his eyes. “Look, I told Dean I’d come down and meet Kaia. That’s all I said. I did not agree—”

“You’re getting the dog,” Dean told him, and then turned and walked back toward Kennel 1, leaving Sam behind on the threshold to Cas’ office, hands on his hips.

“She’s a good dog,” Cas said sympathetically. “But she’s had a hard life, and she just needs someone to love her.”

“It’s a ton of responsibility.” Sam sighed. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you I haven’t wanted a dog my whole life, but we’re busy all the time. Every night. The business comes first.”

“And yet you’ve managed to build a great life with a wife and a son who, by Dean’s accounts, love you very much,” he challenged. But it looked like Sam’s mind was made up, and that wasn’t something Cas was willing to push, even for a dog as sweet as Kaia. “OK. I’m the one who has to sign off on the adoption, and I won’t let your brother bully you into getting a dog you don’t want.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He stood and ushered Sam down toward the kennels. “But you’re already here, so let’s go meet her.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what he expected to happen when he introduced Sam to Kaia while Dean was working his shift. Maybe he thought they’d bond instantly, and Sam wouldn’t be able to leave there without at least filling out the preliminary adoption form. Maybe he just expected a “I’ll think about it” or “I have to talk to Jess about it first.”

Maybe he had no expectations at all.

He most certainly did  _ not  _ expect Sam’s attention to be diverted from Kaia to the adjacent kennel on Kaia’s left, where the occupant eagerly came up to the door and stuck a wet black nose out to sniff Sam more closely. Whatever he smelled like, it was good enough for her, because the next thing Cas knew there was one clawed foot and a pink tongue sticking out of the fenced enclosure, and Sam was turning his head to smile and chuckle at the eager pup. “Well well,” Sam laughed, and his body turned, and when he let the dog lick his cheek - that was it. The deal was done. Cas had seen this enough times now to know: Sam had been chosen. 

_ After all _ , he thought to himself.  _ The pet picks you. Not the other way around. _

“Her name’s Ruby,” Cas said softly. He glanced over at Kaia, intending to give her a look of apology, but she’d already returned to her preferred resting spot, head turned away from the entrance to her kennel. Clearly it just wasn’t meant to be. “The vet estimates she’s about six months old. She and her littermates were picked up by animal control from an abandonment situation.”

“That’s horrible. How could people just…?”

“It happens more often than you think.” Cas watched them interact for another moment, and yeah. Sam was gone on her, and the feeling was mutual. “There were seven of them in all. No mom in sight, and most of them in pretty bad health. Three of them made it, and they all spent some time in foster care before coming here. Ruby’s the only one left.”

“Well.” Sam stood, and the face he turned on Cas was nothing short of beaming. “Do you know if the foster home had children? Has she…?”

“Two older children. She did very well. And by the looks of all the pups, either mom or dad was a Lab. Possibly some Collie in there, too. You couldn’t ask for a better family dog.”

“I’ll have to talk to my wife, but I… yeah. Can I, like, fill out a form or something…?”

“Come on back to my office. I’ll get you started.”

***

Sam was gone by the time Dean finished his shift (they’d driven separately, apparently) which was just as well, because when Dean found out that Sam had his heart set on a different pup - and that Cas had helped him - he was less than happy.

“He did  _ what _ ?”

“Dean, listen--”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “She’s been here longer than any of the others. Since before I started. Since forever. It’s not fair.”

“She didn’t pick Sam, Dean. It’s that simple.”

“She hasn’t picked  _ anybody _ ,” Dean grumbled.

“Not true.” Dean looked up from his hands, finally, and furrowed a brow at Cas. “She picked  _ you _ .” Maybe that wasn’t fair of Cas. It was a huge risk. Hell, Kaia had responded well to Cas, too, and he’d take her in a heartbeat if he could.

But he chose not to say any of that to Dean. 

The other man blinked at him, and it was as if the idea was occuring to him for the first time. “She did, didn’t she?” His tone was somewhere between awed and subdued. “Like, all his time, I kept trying to adopt her out to someone else when I could have just…” He clapped his hands loudly, as though making a decision. “Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“Um. I think. I think I’m gettin’ a dog.”

“Seems that way.”

“She picked me.” There it was again, the awe. The absolute wonder at the idea that someone would choose him. Cas cocked his head at that thought, because why would that be surprising to Dean? He was kind and funny and considerate. He was adorable when he smiled and a family man to the core and.

Holy shit.

Like a ton of bricks to the gut, Cas was hit with the realization that he wanted to pick Dean, too.

Dean had been right, at their picnic. He didn’t want to teach Dean to be a good Dom for someone else.

He wanted to pick Dean and hold him close and he wanted to say “fuck the contract” and he wanted to have him be  _ his _ .

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t make himself. He clung to that contract like a lifeline. Even if they extended it a time or two or ten. It existed to protect them both. He needed that for himself, and he wanted it for Dean. So he didn’t say anything about that. 

“She did.”

“Will you help me with the, uh. You know. All the stuff?”

“Of course.”

They sat down and Cas helped Dean through the adoption form and cleared his references. He undersaw the entire adoption with absolute care and sent Dean and Kaia home with a bag of food and a dog bed and a collar and a leash. He bought a couple of toys in congratulations. He offered all the advice he could, given that he didn’t exactly have a veterinary degree. 

He said everything he could think of.

Everything, that is, except the one thing he really wanted to say. And then they were standing by Dean’s car, Kaia sprawled across the back seat of Dean’s impeccable Chevy Impala like she absolutely belonged there, and there was the awkwardness between them again. It was becoming a familiar feeling of two people who had no idea how to say goodbye.

“See you tonight?”

“Tonight,” Cas agreed with a nod.

“Thanks, Cas. For, you know. Everything.”

Cas just nodded as Dean circled to the driver’s seat and got in. He raised a hand to wave and then retreated back into the safety of the shelter.

He didn’t trust his voice to say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Ruby: The characterization of "Ruby" here is a page out of my own life with regard to a cat we adopted earlier this year. Alaina was a very young new mama, and she and her kittens were picked up by animal control after being abandoned by their owners. It happens WAY more often than we think. Adopt, don't shop, y'all.


	19. About a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of Cas' past, which includes Cas/April and abuse.

Dean brought Kaia with him that night, and when Cas opened the door, the man on the other side was beaming like a new parent. “Man,” Dean said as he lead Kaia across the threshold by her leash, “This is the best. Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

Kaia chuffed at Cas in greeting and then jumped up to him, and Cas gladly bathed in the affection of her doggy hugs and kisses. He scratched her ears and she leaned into the touch. “She seems very happy,” he observed, looking up at Dean from where he was crouched on the floor at Kaia’s level.

“Happy to see you, right now. I’m the guy who walked her and fed her already today, but now I’m chopped liver, apparently.” Dean threw up his hands, but the exaggerated roll of his eyes said he was kidding. Dean was eating this up.

“Probably just interested to see me in a different context,” he brushed off the compliment. “I’m never sure what the dogs all think when we leave for the night. It has to be weird to her that I’m popping up in a different aspect of her life.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

Cas blushed and busied himself with filling a water bowl for Kaia, and then Dean situated her in the kitchen on the floor with a couple of toys before Cas lead him to the kitchen table. It was the same table where they’d sat when they’d gone over their checklists, when Cas had gotten a little bratty and Dean had been a little Dominant and they’d almost… 

He shook his head to clear it, because it wasn’t about that. It had  _ never  _ been about that. Not this time, not last time, not ever.

He’d set the contract there already, two copies, and he pushed one closer to Dean as an indicator that the other man should read it. They both sat down, and there was a long silent pause as Dean read his copy, and Cas read his over again for the 16th time.

“No kissing.” Cas looked up to find Dean looking back at him over his papers. “No kissing? Really?”

“No kissing,” Cas affirmed with a hard single nod of his head. “That’s— this relationship is physical, and we’re agreeing to make it sexual, but it’s not romantic. Kissing is romantic. No kissing.”

The man across the table squinted at Cas, lips downturned, but he said nothing and returned to studying the paper.

“All right,” he said at last, and looked up again. “Question.”

“Fire away.”

“Can I use my own toys, or would you be more comfortable if we only used yours?”

“I thought you didn’t have any.”

Dean blushed a little at that. “I might’ve, um. Gone shopping.” He bit his lip, and Cas had a stray thought that it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He pushed the thought away harshly.

“I’d like to see,” he said with a soft smile. “Bring them next time?”

Dean nodded tersely and then went on. “One more. The contract length. Six weeks, Cas? Really?”

“We can amend it to be shorter if you want.”

“What? No, Cas, I don’t—” He ran a hand down his face, and dammit, Cas knew what Dean was getting at, but he couldn’t. He— couldn’t. “OK. Fine. Six weeks. What happens after that?”

“Then we re-evaluate, and if we’re both still interested in continuing the arrangement, we can extend the contract.”

Dean ran his hand over his face again, and this time when the hand reached his mouth, he chuckled into it and shook his head. “Man. OK.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Is something— OK, look, Cas, you— “ He chuckled into his hand again. “Lemme ask you something.”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in a real relationship? I mean a real, honest-to-God, relationship?” Cas knew he was looking at him blankly, but Dean had opened his mouth on the subject and there was apparently no stopping the thought train now. He plowed ahead. “Dates, Cas. Movies, hands brushing in the popcorn bowl, making out and missing the end of it? Romantic dinners, holding doors open, movies on the couch, holding hands, hell, toes in the sand on a beach somewhere?” 

“Yes. Once.” He swallowed hard and shut his mouth because where the hell had  _ that  _ come from? But maybe it was the right move, because his body language clearly got the rest of the story across to Dean.

“Didn’t end well, huh?” He clenched his jaw in response, fists balling of their own accord. “Hey. Hey, Cas, it’s OK, all right? I’m sorry I asked.”

He dug deep and gathered his resolve. “No,” he ground out. “We should— we’ve been remiss in not discussing our sexual pasts. Now is the right time for that.” He took a deep breath. “I’d been on the BDSM scene for a few years and had a couple of Doms, played at a few parties… and that’s— that’s how I met April.”

“At a… play party?”

“Yes. April was pleasant, on the surface. I was… quite taken with her.” He felt a blush creep into his cheeks. “Fell in love, even. We were together for over a year, romantically, sexually. I started to think we might… might get married. And then... I woke up one morning, bound. Nothing new, really. I mean, she was the enthusiastic sadist to my willing masochist, but this was different. She had a knife, and she uh. She carved… you’ve seen the scars on my chest.”

“I figured you’d been in an accident or something.” Dean’s voice carried all the emotion that Cas’ wooden tone had been lacking. “She did that to you?”

He nodded minutely. “When I look back, I can see the signs. She was physically and verbally abusive, I know that now, but at the time it felt like degradation under the guise of kink, and I was OK with that because I felt… I felt I deserved it. She knew that. She targeted me for my low self esteem and she played me like a fiddle.”

“I’ll kill her.”

“No, Dean, you won’t. She stood trial, she’s served her time. And I… I’ve had a lot of therapy.” He watched as Dean tried to process those words, jaw clenching and unclenching several times before a harsh exhale came out of his nose. Kaia seemed to sense his distress and padded over, nudging doggie kisses into his hip. He patted her affectionately, ruffled her fur, and his next exhale was much more calm. “Just so you understand why— why I can’t. I swore when it was over that I’d never let myself get close like that again. That my kinks would remain contractual and my heart...” Dean was just staring at him now, and Cas swallowed hard, trying not to flinch at the unwavering gaze. “My heart would remain protected.”

Dean’s face had run the gauntlet of emotions over the past two minutes, from frustrated to passive listening to absolutely furious. Now he was calm, just sitting there, scratching his pup’s head and biting his lip as he looked across the table at Castiel. “OK.”

“Dean…”

“Cas, it’s OK. I… I get it. But don’t think for one second that I’m not gonna do my absolute damndest to make you feel safe, feel like you can trust me. People like that— like that  _ bitch _ ? They don’t deserve a second chance to try ‘n get it right.” He locked eyes with Cas, then. “But you thought I did, and I think that you do, too.”


	20. Walls

That first night, they’d finished their business with the contract, conversation somewhat stilted after Dean’s statement about Cas deserving a second chance.

Did he?

Or had he simply gotten what he deserved?

His parents had warned him when he’d come out and willingly turned his back on the church that his sins would be his to bear, and that he’d suffer for them. They knew nothing of his alternative lifestyle, of course; they only had the information about his sexuality, his indifference to the gender of his partner, and that was enough. No need to dig that hole any deeper. He and his therapist were agreed on that.

That was another matter altogether: Therapy. In California, finding an LGBTQ- and kink-friendly therapist had been a cinch. Kansas, a purple state at the best of times, was a different story. He’d had a few swings and misses before he finally found one that he felt comfortable opening himself up to; someone he felt he could confess his deep, dark secrets to without feeling like he was being judged.

Garth Fitzgerald IV was a bundle of positive energy, big on smiles and hugs. He was a lot to swallow at first, but he’d come recommended by his therapist in Los Angeles. His office was close to the KU campus and he fielded a lot of student traffic, and even though Garth was barely out of school himself, Cas found him to be both enjoyable as a conversationalist and genuinely good at his job. During Cas’ first appointment, he’d been blunt with the truth about his sexuality and his proclivities, and Garth’s response had been, “Sure, man. That’s important background information, but it’s not why you need therapy.”

“Huh?”

“Castiel, you’re no idjit, I can tell just by looking at you. So you’re a masochist, and you’re probably pansexual, but why are you  _ here _ ?”

That had sealed the deal for Cas: The presumption that Cas’ masochism wasn’t the root of his issues. Cas saw Garth for an hour every four weeks on Tuesday morning.

On this particular Tuesday, Cas blurted out, “I have a problem,” as soon as the door to Garth’s office was closed behind them. He didn’t even sit down; he just started pacing the carpet, from the door to the far wall and back again, hands steepled at his chin. 

“Looks that way. Care to elaborate?”

Cas stopped cold, but held his position, as though he was praying over his next words while his eyes locked with Garth’s. “His name is Dean Winchester.” Then he sat, and he launched into the entire story of Dean from the very beginning. He talked about their rocky first meeting and their rocky second meeting and the roses and the chocolate and the meeting about kinks and the first scene and the drop and the phone call and meeting Dean’s family. He talked about the next scene and the bed-sharing and the date. He talked about the dog and the contract meeting and Dean’s declaration that Cas deserved a second chance. And he talked about their scene that night and the two Wednesday nights following, and how attentive and careful and did he mention how  _ amazing  _ Dean had been? He processed the entirety of their relationship out of his mouth and didn’t stop talking until he got to the very end, where he said, “And we only have three more weeks left on the contract and I really don’t know what to do because I can’t have anything bigger with him. I just. I can’t.” And then he buried his face in his hands.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why can’t you have something more with him?”

“Because I can’t— I don’t— I just told you!”

“No, you didn’t. You told me all about Dean, about how you threw up a wall the minute he was anything less than perfect, and how he’s been slowly chipping away at that wall, despite your best efforts to keep him out. You told me that he wants something more with you — and that he’s made that explicitly clear.”

Right. Garth was kind and easygoing, but he wasn’t one to mince words. Up until right now, Castiel had appreciated that. “Because I’m afraid,” he grumbled, fists clenched in frustration and eyes downcast. “The contract keeps me safe.”

“Do you want a contract with Dean that goes longer than six weeks?”

“Yes.” His fists were still clenched, but he started to fidget with his thumbs a little. “But he doesn’t want one at all.”

“Then don’t have one.”

“Then we can’t scene together.”

“OK, so you have a contract, and you include things like dates and kissing in the text. Keep the wall up, but include a door.” Castiel said nothing in the allowed pause that followed. “Or is it something more than that?” Cas clenched and unclenched his fists, teeth grinding, his entire body tight. “Castiel, you’re so close to this breakthrough, I can feel it. Don’t let it go. Meet me in the middle here, come on.”

He took a deep breath. Held it. And then the words were out before he could think any better of it. “I want to have a relationship with Dean. And the only thing standing in the way of that… is fear.”

Garth slapped his knee and jumped to his feet. “See, I knew you could do it!” He sobered a bit, but his face was still all smiles. “All right, come on. You know what’s comin’, don’t leave me hangin’.”

Cas stood, a smile on his face as well. It had been a little weird at first, having the scrawny man throw his arms around Castiel like they were long-lost buddies, but Cas found over time that he didn’t hate it. “I’m really proud of you, Castiel. This is a big step for you.”

Cas let out a big breath as he realized with a start that he felt… free. Relieved. Scared out of his mind, but he couldn’t deny the weight that felt lifted from his shoulders. “Just… one thing.”

“What’s that?” They resumed their seats, and Garth crossed his leg over his knee and picked up his writing pad and pen.

“I have absolutely no idea how to do this.”

***

The following Wednesday, Cas left work early. He went home, stood in front of his mirror, and practiced what he wanted to say to Dean. He practiced it three times, because three times makes a memory, he’d learned in college, and it had stuck with him.

Then he showered and got dressed for their scene.

He’d noticed in their time together that Dean liked him shirtless from the beginning. He’d love to talk about it, find out why that was.

Maybe that was something he could actually do?

He’d never dared to ask things like that of any previous Dominant. They liked certain things done a certain way and that was just the way it was. They directed, he obeyed.

Dean was different. In so many ways, Dean was different.

In this particular case, Dean hadn’t directed him to be shirtless yet today, but Cas supposed that he would, and he took the initiative.

He wanted to be good for Dean. He truly did.

He wanted— he wanted to be  _ better  _ for Dean. Because Dean deserved it. He’d earned it.

The doorbell rang as he was futzing with his hair for the 15th time in the bathroom mirror. He really wished he could get it to qualify as something other than “bed head” without a shit-ton of product, but that was a lost cause. He shook his head, turned off the bathroom light, and went to let Dean in.

Holy Hell, Dean was handsome.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” He held Kaia by her leash, and upon seeing Cas, the dog chuffed and trotted forward to greet him with now-traditional nose nudges and doggy kisses. Dean watched the interaction in silence, and when Cas looked up, he felt himself melt at the softness in Dean’s eyes. “Well,” Dean said as Cas turned away from the dog to face him, “seems she looks forward to these visits just as much as I do.”

Cas cleared his throat. He wanted to say… so much. He had the words; they were  _ right there _ . But he couldn’t make them come out of his face.

He just couldn’t.

They were rehearsed and perfect, but they were still on the other side of a wall too high to climb and too strong to break through. He cast his eyes at the floor, back at Kaia, who tilted her head at him and raises an ear. He just sighed and shook his head, and the dog, with some next-level understanding Cas couldn’t process, nudged her nose into Cas’ hand one more time before leaving the room.

“Wanna try something different tonight, Cas.” Dean’s tone was soft, but strained. It sounded for all the world like he was afraid to say the next thing that was going to come out of his mouth. “Wanna take you apart slow. We’re always—” He cut himself off abruptly, as though he’d thought better of what he was about to say and wanted to change the tone. Then he shook his head. “You can say no if you want. But what I want to do in our scene tonight, uh. I want— I want to fuck you.”

Cas kept his face carefully neutral, all the while berating himself for doing so. “I’m amenable to that. I’ve been fairly clear that I enjoy…”

“I want the control and I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean blurted. He wasn’t meeting Cas’ eyes now, and for Cas’ part, he couldn’t meet Dean’s either. “I want to make you feel good in other ways.”

Dean was right behind him now, hovering, and Cas couldn’t breathe.

_ No. No no no no no _ . His brain was screaming and he wanted for all the world to run away, to get away from Dean and this entire situation and his entire proposal to make you feel good. Because that wasn’t why they were here and it wasn’t what Cas deserved and it wasn’t…

Dean’s hand fell on his shoulder, pulling Cas out of his thoughts and causing him to jump. “Please, Castiel. Trust me.”

His eyes flicked to Dean’s, and he remembered what he’d been thinking about just before Dean’s arrival tonight. His desire to be better for Dean, to do more for Dean. He remembered, too, Garth’s insight that Cas’ walls were up even with someone like Dean, someone he opened his body to… but not his heart.  _ I understand what put them there _ , he’d said,  _ but you’re the one who gets to choose how long they stay up _ . “OK,” he said, biting his lip and nodding slightly. He felt himself shaking but looked up at Dean’s face regardless. “OK.”


	21. Like a Wrecking Ball

“Undress completely and kneel beside the bed,” Dean directed in a tone that belied how new he really was to this. 

Cas found himself falling into rhythm immediately, a, “Yes sir,” barely out of his mouth before he started to comply. He stripped out of the comfortable tee and lounge pants he always put on before a scene, even if he knew he wouldn’t be wearing them for very long. Like anything else, there was comfort in the familiarity of the fabric.

He’d been fully nude in front of Dean enough times now that it should be routine, but removing that last barrier — his starch-white boxers — still brought him a moment’s hesitation. His fingers danced along the waistband as though looking for the perfect place to tighten for the pull down. 

“Don’t waste my time,” Dean said, and Cas’ eyebrows raised, but he couldn’t find fault with the commentary. He was a sub, Dean was the Dom in charge here, and Cas was procrastinating.

Plus, whether Cas wanted to admit it or not, Dean’s grab for control with those words sent a delicious zing through the air between them and right into Cas’ bloodstream. His heartbeat picked up and he removed the boxers without further preamble, then took all of his clothing to the hamper in his closet before kneeling beside the bed.

Dean let him be for a few minutes. Again, it was routine, something they’d done since their first scene, when Dean noted how much Cas enjoyed the position. Predictably, Cas’ mind wandered at first, and he had a harder time than usual settling into his submissive headspace.  _ You were supposed to beat him to the chase, dummy,  _ a voice in his head chided _ . You’re weak and you’ll never— _

_ I WILL _ , Cas pushed back against the voice, gritting his teeth and tensing the hands that were clasped behind his back. He shoved forcefully at the voice to make it be quiet, instead settling into a mental recitation of the things he wanted to tell Dean. The things he’d worked through with Garth, the things that were as close to a proclamation of feelings that he was willing to let himself get.

_ I don’t completely understand my feelings for you, but I would like to continue exploring them. _

_ I like the way you take care of me. I enjoy our time together, and I’d like it to continue. _

_ I want more with you, but I can’t define that right now. But I’m here, if you’ll have me. _

“There you are.” Dean’s voice drifted through Cas’ reverie. The weight of Dean’s hand fell on his head, carded through his hair, and Cas found himself musing that he was glad he hadn’t taken the time to tame it. “I haven’t told you how much you amaze me, Castiel, but you do. Every time we scene together. Even before, when you hated my guts.”

_ I never hated you. _

But he stayed quiet.

“I’m borrowing one of your ties. Actually… two. Two of your ties.”

“Don’t use the blue silk one.” He had a meeting with a big donor on Friday, and he wanted that tie clean.

“I won’t use the blue silk one.”

Cas kept his eyes downcast as Dean went to the closet and selected two ties, both of which were dark colored and devoid of any pattern. The first came around his head to obscure his sight, and Cas wasn’t surprised. Then Dean gently bade him to stand, and Cas was up on shaky legs, letting Dean lead him to the bed. 

“I’m going to lay you out on your back.” Dean’s voice was gruff, but controlled. If Cas could see, he’d probably find Dean to be visibly aroused as the stated action was completed. “Good. Now your hands.” Dean took both wrists and worked the tie around them, first individually, then together, arms bent at the elbows and positioned over Cas’ head on a pillow. “Is that too tight?”

“No Sir.”

“No like  _ No _ , or no like  _ I like the way it hurts _ ?”

“The first one, Sir.”

“Good.” Dean moved away, and with his vision obscured, Cas could only guess at what he was doing by the sounds reaching his ears. There was a rustling of fabric, the sound of bare feet moving across a carpeted floor. The bed dipped under Dean’s weight, and then Dean’s hands were on him, splayed on his chest.

Cas’ breath hitched as Dean’s thumbs brushed his nipples in tandem. Once… twice… then gone, but Cas knew his back was arched by that point, straining for more of the touch.

The next thing he felt was something being pressed into his right palm. It was circular, smooth, probably silicone. It gave under a squeeze. Recognition flashed across his mind: A cock ring. “ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed, because he needed something that hurt the right way, something to pull him away from the terrifying edge of giving over to gentle pleasure. Dean hummed, pleased, and the ring was gone from Cas’ hand and in the next beat, being secured around the base of his erection.

Then the thumbs were back on his nipples, brushing with the clear intent to pleasure. Cas’ brain was screaming. He couldn’t, it was too much, it was—

And then it was gone, and he whined at the loss.

“Easy, now,” Dean chuckled. “We’re just getting started.” His next touch was with flat palms to Cas’ chest, moving slowly south. They were mapping, exploring. This was… interesting. It wasn’t anything Cas had experienced before; most of his play partners were only interested in particular parts of his body, not the sum of its parts. Dean, in contrast, was clearly memorizing Cas’ skin by inches, and perhaps by the reactions he got when he grazed certain spots. The movement lulled Cas into a sense of security, and his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. 

Dean’s hands continued their journey, fingers fluttering over Cas’ hip bones in tandem, and Cas’ breath hitched. At that, Dean’s hands stilled, and then he ran his hands over the hip bones again, thumbs pressing a bit harder into the hollows on either side.

“Aaahhhh….!” He was bucking up off the bed, he knew he was. As his mind was short-circuiting, he had the fleeting thought that no one had ever —  _ ever  _ — touched him quite that way. He hadn’t even known he had that erogenous zone, himself.

Before he could think any further about that, Dean’s mouth was attached to the right hip, tongue licking enthusiastically at the hollow. When Cas bucked and moaned, Dean doubled down on his efforts, sucking a bruise into the spot until Cas’ moan was a full-on scream. He didn’t stop then, either — didn’t move on from that spot until Cas’ feet were scrambling and he was whimpering and crying out, “Please, Dean,  _ please _ ,” without a clue what he was asking for. Only then did Dean move to the other side to repeat the process.

By the time he’d finished with Cas’ hips — the left was far more sensitive than the right, how the fuck had Castiel never discovered that? — Cas was a bundle of nerves, arousal washing over him in waves. He didn’t even notice that Dean had moved south until a flash of pleasant pain had him arching up and he realized Dean was bruising up his inner thighs as well. Fucking  _ fuck  _ he needed to come. He’d walked the pleasure-pain line so often the tread was bare, but he’d never been taken apart so thoroughly as Dean was doing right now. He’d never been broken down piece by piece. He’d never been—

Oh fuck.

Dean had folded Cas’ legs up and was between them now, and Cas could only arch his back and cry out as a single lubed finger circled his hole. He was  _ crying _ , actually crying real tears, because yes, Dean was touching him there, but that wasn’t it. Dean was touching him, just  _ touching  _ him, waking up all sorts of feelings that were torn and frayed and raw and it hurt in a whole different way.

It hurt the wrong way.

Dean pushed his finger in.

Cas sobbed and arched and scrambled for his safe word, but then— fucking God, how did he  _ know _ ? — there was a woosh of air and the short, sharp sting of leather striking skin burst out of his left thigh. Again it came, and again, while Dean fingered him open, and Cas let himself go.

He opened his eyes under the blindfold, relaxed his body, and gave himself over to Dean. It was terrifying and exhilarating like a freefall, and at the same time, it felt like he’d just set down a weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders for years.

He was vaguely aware of being stretched a bit wider, and then wider still and  _ filled _ , and then Dean’s body was braced above him, one large hand holding Cas’ right knee up to his ear in an effort to get as deep as possible. He knew there were words bubbling out of his mouth, but he had no idea what they were, or whether they had anything to do with what Dean was saying to him. He caught snippets of that—  _ “You’re so tight, so good for me… fuck, Cas, you’re perfect… so perfect… mine…” _ — and if he wasn’t so adrift in subspace, those words would terrify him.  _ Mine…  _ some Dominants said it in the moment, a statement of temporary possession, but when Dean said it, it carried a weight. Like he meant it. Like he well and truly  _ wanted  _ Cas.

Their bodies rocked as one when Dean moved in and out, more just gentle, continuous rolls of his hips than actual, forceful thrusts.

God, oh God oh fucking Christ, he wasn’t being fucked, he was being  _ cherished _ . Like a  _ lover  _ would. Not a Dominant, a fucking—

Cas threw his head back and cried out, an unintelligible scream of vowels that sounded high and alien to his own ears, and only after the fact did he realize that Dean had removed the cock ring and Cas had come just moments later, all over the both of them. He sobbed, hands clenching in their bonds, as Dean continued to move inside him through his aftershocks.

And then it was over. Dean’s rhythm stuttered and then stopped. He was wearing a condom and he came silently, but Cas could tell from the way that he tensed that he’d gone over the edge. They were still like that for a moment, Cas’ release going cool and dry and sticky between them, and then Cas was empty. In the next moment, his eyes blinked against the low light in the room as his blindfold was removed, his hands untied, and Dean Houdini-ed a washcloth from somewhere and used it to clean them both up.

Then he climbed back into bed beside Cas and pulled Cas’ fluffy comforter up over them both.

It took Cas a long while to come down. His limbs felt like Jell-o and his brain was mush. He really couldn’t process any deep thoughts at that moment, and his body was running on its baser instincts. That, he would tell himself later, was why he moved closer to Dean and curled into the Little Spoon position as soon as he wasn’t alone in the bed.

There was a warm hum in his ear, and then the Dom obliged, folding himself around Cas, nosing into Cas’s hair at the back of his head. “You did so well,” he breathed. “I…” But whatever else he was going to say died on his tongue. “Thank you,” he said instead.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Cas murmured, the first real words he was capable of forming. He swallowed, slowly coming back to himself, and closed his eyes. “Dean, I…” 

“Are you OK?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Did I…?”

“No, you were… You were amazing. I should never have doubted you. I’m— I’m the one who’s broken.” A tear slipped down his cheek.

“Are you kidding me? You amaze me every day.”

“You don’t see me every day, Dean.”

“Semantics.”

“True, though.”

They fell into silence, Dean still folded around Cas. It was warm and comfortable here, and while Cas knew he should get up, shower, put on clothes, drink some water… he couldn’t be bothered. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe in the arms of a Dominant.

He let his thoughts suspend, and gave himself over to sleep.


	22. I'm No Angel

There was something wet touching his nose. Something round and wet. It—

“Kaia, dammit! Aww, no, look. You woke him up.”

Cas squinted, blinked, and finally opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a slobbery doggy kiss right across his face. 

“Kaia, no… no no no. We don’t— you’re laughing. I didn’t expect— I mean, look man, I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to disturb you.”

“It’s fine, Dean.” He found Kaia’s sweet spot behind her ear and scratched at it, and she nuzzled into the affection willingly. “I’m the one who should be sorry. She seems to be having difficulty letting go of her affection for me. Must be all the treats I snuck her.”   


“No, she’s… she’s a smart dog. She’s got the right idea.” Dean still stood in the doorway, and his head ducked as the words left his lips. It was too dark to confirm, but Cas suspected Dean was blushing. “I’m… sorry. I…”

“No, Dean, listen--”

“I’ll, um. I’ll bring you some water.” He turned from the doorway like a man who wanted to stay right where he was, and as he headed toward the kitchen, Kaia bounded after him, probably expecting a treat, herself.

Alone and feeling exasperated, Cas threw himself back on his bed with a labored sigh. He was still nude under the covers, a testament to how comfortable he felt with Dean. Any other partner, any other part-time, short-term Dom, and he’d be scrambling for his clothes right now, prepared to see them out for the night.

But that was just the problem, wasn’t it? Cas didn’t want to see Dean out. He didn’t want Dean to go.

“Hey.” He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard Dean and Kaia return. Dean held a glass of water, and Cas sat up and accepted it even as he patted the spot beside him on the bed, bidding Dean to sit down. 

“Thanks,” he started gruffly, and shot a shy smile at Dean over the rim of the glass. Then he sat the glass on his nightstand. Kaia nuzzled his empty hand, but when she found nothing of interest there, she padded over near the door and laid down, her head resting on her feet, eyes halfway closed. Cas took that as his cue; after all, if he didn’t speak up now, Dean would leave and it would be another week before they saw each other again. Another week will have passed where Cas dodged around something he wanted because he was afraid of being hurt by that very thing.

_ “This might come as a shock to you, Castiel, but there are good people in the world. In your case, there are good Dominants, too. They’re not all out to skin you alive.” _

Right. Garth’s words rung through Cas’ mind, and he drew a deep breath. Pushed it out. Opened his mouth.

“Wait, before you say anything, Cas, I—”

“Don’t go.” Oops. Yeah, no, that definitely was not how this was supposed to go. Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he said nothing else. “Dammit. I. Fuck.” Cas buried his face in his hands and sat up straighter, but he didn’t look up from his hands, speaking into his palms as he continued, “I went over this whole thing with my shrink, I had a speech, I practiced it, and I just fucked it up, and now you think I’m an idiot.”

“You have a shrink?”

“You don’t go around being as fucked up as me without having somebody to talk to about it all,” Cas deadpanned. “Not if you can help it, anyway.”

“And you talked to him. About me. Us. This?” Dean seemed surprised, which Cas figured made sense since he’d admonished Dean not long ago about speaking too loudly in public about their connections.

“Yes. Yes. And— OK. I’m sorry. Can I… start over?”

“Sure, Cas.” The emotional swing in Dean’s tone was giving Cas whiplash, but he tried to stay focused. “Whatever you need.”

“OK. Um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a little fucked up.” He chuckled at his self-depreciation, but Dean didn’t. His green eyes grew serious, brows furrowing in the low light in the bedroom. “I don’t, um. Garth— that’s my shrink, Garth— he said if I wanted to label it, I could use words like  _ aromantic  _ and  _ demisexual  _ and  _ masochistic _ , but the only one I’ve ever really toted around with me was the last one. Really, though, I’ve just gotten so used to people not understanding who I am and what I need that I stopped trying to explain it, even to myself. I pushed people away for the inevitability of being misunderstood, and hurt. And then I met April.”

“That bitch,” Dean growled low under his breath.

Cas waved his hand. “I thought I’d fallen in love, and that maybe, for once, someone understood me enough to love me back.” He swallowed hard. The bubble of tears he felt forming wasn’t getting out before the rest of his words did, so help him. “Physically, yes, it hurt. But emotionally, I just shoved it down. Filed it away as the most damning evidence of all that I wasn’t meant to find someone long-term. Until… until you.” He chanced a glance at Dean, and those green eyes were sparkling with hope. Fuck. Fuck. “Dean, I don’t completely understand my feelings for you. Not yet. I’m sorry. But,” he licked his lips to wet them before continuing, “I would like to continue exploring them, if you’re willing.”

“‘Course, Cas. Anything…”

“I put the contract in place as a means of protecting myself. It’s what I’ve always done, and in this lifestyle, it’s sort of expected. That you didn’t seem to need one was… one anomaly among many, I suppose. It’s— I can’t promise that I don’t need another one. But I enjoy our time together, and I’d like it to continue. And Dean, I know— I know that there’s more that you’d like from me, but I’m not ready to give it. Not yet. I can’t make you promises I don’t know if I can keep. But I’m here, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have— Castiel. Cas, look at me.” He did. Dammit, was Dean going to cry? That’s not how this was supposed to go at all, the both of them in tears like a couple in the final act of a romantic comedy. “I don’t know how many damn times I gotta say this, but I’m going to keep saying it until you hear me. I think about you pretty much all the time. And I think about what I gotta do to keep you happy, to see you smile, and most of all to keep you from walkin’ out on me ever again. I’m learning how to do this right for you, so that you’ll keep me around. And sure, yeah, the short contracts aren’t my favorite thing, but I’ll do this six weeks at a time for years, if that’s what it takes.”

“Years? Dean…”

“What can I say, I’m an optimist.” Dean chuckled and ducked his head. “Anyway. I’m, uh. I’m in it for the long haul, OK? Draw up another contract. Show me where to sign.”

“It’s that easy?”

“When it’s something worth waiting for? Always.” 

“Where’d you come from, Dean Winchester?”

Dean sighed and laid next to Cas on the ceiling. “Well, I was born in Lawrence, Kansas, in the middle of a blizzard, January 24, 1979—”

“Dean.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Cas sighed, a smile afixed to his face as he turned on his side and faced Dean. “You’re right. You should keep going.”

A sigh filled the darkening bedroom. “I should go,” Dean said, in a tone that said he wanted to do anything but. “You need your rest. Work tomorrow, and all that.”

“I’d...” Cas’ mouth went dry. This was a request he hadn’t made in a long time. It was a huge leap of faith, considering the last partner he’d invited to do so had carved into his chest with a kitchen knife the next morning. But, well. He’d come this far. And he wanted what he wanted, in spite of his fears. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

“All night?”

“Yes. All night.”

“What about my dog?”

“She should stay, too.”

“OK. Then we’ll stay.”

Dean opened his arms in invitation, and Cas cuddled into his side as Dean continued a detailed recount of his life. The last thing he remembered was a story about Dean’s Uncle Bobby, setting up some ghost hunts for Dean and Sam when they were kids.

And then he was asleep.


	23. In Good Hands

“That’s it, Castiel. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Relax into the ropes.”

Cas rolled his eyes at Benny. “It’s just a chest harness.”

“Maybe, but you ‘n I both know it ain’t about that, Cher,” Benny replied even as Dean’s thumb and forefinger jerked Cas’ chin back to square. “If it was so simple, you’d have no problem trustin’ Dean to finish this tie by himself. Now relax. Breathe. _ Trust _your partner.”

Cas growled like a petulant child, gritted his teeth— and was rewarded with a swat across his ass from Dean. Cas was fully clothed, but the swat was hard enough that it made Cas squeak. “Sorry Sir.”

“You bet your ass you’re sorry,” Dean grumbled. “‘M concentrating. Tryin’ to get this right for you because you said you _ liked _it.”

“Yes, I— I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now—” Dean nodded toward Benny. “He said you should relax into the ropes. Seems to me you should listen to him.”

Cas nodded and followed Benny’s earlier instruction: Breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Relax. He was getting better at that, and after two more months of regular play and increasingly intense scenes with Dean, they were finally getting around to the rope bondage class he’d mentioned a lifetime ago. 

They were back at the club in Kansas City, the same space where Dean had taken Benny’s whip in a chivalrous attempt to get inside Cas' head. It looked so different right now, with all the heavy equipment pushed against the walls, the fluorescent lights over their heads turned on full, and just a half-dozen fully dressed couples spaced apart on the bare floor cement floor, each equipped with coils of red rope.

Dean was doing a decent job, Cas reflected as his mind slipped in and out of a subspace-like haze. Generally when he’d been bound in the past, the ties had been purposefully tight, and meant to restrain, not purely for his enjoyment. This one left all four of his limbs free and was, as he’d whined about already, a simple chest harness. It came around his neck, between his pectorals, then across his chest above and below them, with a single diamond set across his back between his shoulder blades. It was meant to teach Dean, very simply, how to handle rope and make basic patterns. Nothing more.

Still, Cas couldn’t deny that the rope and Dean’s closeness were having quite an effect on him, whatever their intent.

“OK Dean, that’s good, but you’re gonna want it tighter. See here? There should be just enough give for you to get your finger under the rope, with a bit of difficulty. This is too loose. If any of the rope had to bear his weight, he’d sag, and some of your knots over here might slip.” Dean didn’t respond with words, but a moment later Cas felt the rope being loosened at his back and then re-tied more firmly. He shifted to test it and found it was definitely holding better. Benny seemed to agree with that assessment, because a moment later Cas heard his footsteps across the floor, headed away from them and back to the front of the class. 

“Good. Now. You’re almost done. Now when you get more comfortable with this, you can start exploring, use some fancier knots to tie it all off if you want. For now, we’re just gonna do a Zeppelin Bend. Take your two ends, make a couple of little loops like ‘at. Now pass one through the other.” Cas’ eyes were closed, but he assumed that Benny was demonstrating on his own model in the pause that followed. “Then pull the other through, and pull tight.”

Benny stopped speaking and his boots clicked across the floor again as he circled through the couples. Dean’s hands were busy at Cas’ back, and Cas hummed as the final knot pulled tight, firming everything up just a little bit more. He let himself drift as Benny explained how to free the knot and loosen the harness when they were finished, but he flitted back at Dean’s voice. “Cas, you good?”

“So good,” he replied, smiling at Dean’s answering chuckle.

“How long can he stay in this?” Cas heard Dean ask, and he opened his eyes just enough to take notice of Benny at their side again.

Benny replied in a raised voice, addressing the class in general. “Question over here was how long a person can stay in these ropes. Harness like this, all day if they want. It’s simple and doesn’t restrict movement or circulation. But anything where your partner is restrained, limit it to 30 minutes, and if you get around to the point where you wanna try suspension, that’s just for brief periods.” Benny lowered his voice, leaving the last comment just for Dean and Cas. “Don’t want you hurtin’ him.”

“Last thing I want to do,” Dean mumbled before his fingers grazed Cas’ right arm. Cas hissed in a breath and then moaned a little and leaned into the touch, a silent plea for _ more _. “The wrong way, anyway.”

Cas smiled and purred deep in his chest as he nuzzled up into Dean’s neck and Dean’s hands came around his middle in a possessive embrace. 

“Congrats to all of you; you’ve just completed your first successful rope bondage ties.” Benny’s voice drew Cas’ attention back to the front of the room. “Next Saturday, we’ll cover something a little more elaborate, including your first restrictive ties. For now, we have this space for another 30 minutes. Use that time to unbind, check your ropes for frays, and provide aftercare. I’m here if you have any questions.” Benny stood at the front of the class for another moment, but when there were no questions and everyone moved on to the next steps as instructed, he stepped to the side of the room and perched in a folding chair, taking intermittent drinks from a bottle of water at his feet.

Dean sat down on the cushion he’d brought for this purpose. Once he was settled, he pulled Cas down into his lap, and Cas went willingly, finally opening his eyes.

“How’s it feel?” Dean asked, and Cas hummed contentedly.

“Grounding, like Benny said. Comfortable.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. If it wasn’t over my clothing, I’d wear it all day. It’s like having you with me.”

“Not so long ago, you didn’t want anything to do with me, now you want me with you all day?”

Cas sighed and leaned his head back against Dean’s shoulder. “You make a good pillow.”

“Thank you.” Dean gave a huff of laughter, and Cas shifted so he was sideways across Dean’s lap, nose nudging into the base of Dean’s neck. “We don’t have all day. But I can give you five more minutes like this, if you’d like.”

“Yes Sir.”

Five minutes came and went, then ten. Around them, people shifted, coiled rope, began quiet conversations. But Dean and Cas stayed quiet, folded into each other, oblivious to the movements of the others.

Finally, at 15 minutes, Dean shifted and helped Cas to his feet, undoing the rope with a sigh. “Have dinner with me tonight?” He sounded so hopeful, like he was still nervous about asking Cas on a date because Cas might say no.

He hardly ever said no anymore.

“It’s Saturday. Your mother and brother will skin you alive if you disappear.” Dean’s face fell at the realization that Cas was right, and Cas felt bad for him. “But I can come by. Eat at the bar. If you play your cards right, maybe you can take me home at the end of the night.” 

“I’d really like that, Cas.”

“I thought you might.” 

“Tell me what you’re feeling now that the ropes are off?”

“Relaxed.” He thought on that for a moment. “Happy that I took a chance with you.” Another, briefer pause. “Aroused.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I mean… you… it wasn’t what you wanted from me in the beginning.” Cas sighed as Dean’s arms came around him, settling loosely around his waist. “I just want to be sure we’re on the same page here.”

“You made a very convincing argument that you should be given a second chance.” He was aware, minutely, of how close together their faces were, and that the distance was closing with every passing millisecond. He knew he was tilting his head, as if by instinct. 

This was it. This was going to be it.

He gave the last inch, pressing his lips to Dean’s, soft, hesitant, breathy… barey there. But there all the same.

When he pulled back again and opened his eyes, Dean was looking at him, awestruck and silent, mouth agape. “Cas…?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but our contract still says no kissing.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Well then I think we should have a meeting. To discuss changing our contract.”

“Oh, you want to have a meeting?”

“Yes. A meeting.” Cas paused and studied Dean’s lips up close. They were really very kissable. Kissing wasn’t a thing Cas did a lot of, like, ever. But if he wanted to kiss someone, Dean’s lips were pretty good at it. “I’ll come over to your house and cuddle your dog by the fireplace, and we’ll talk about the contract. And we can scene, after.”

“You should probably bring an overnight bag.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous.” He let his face slide into a smile, giving himself away. “You’re not wrong, though.”

“Thank you for trusting me, Castiel.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas bit his lip and looked up at Dean through his eyelashes. “Thank you for…” For your patience? For your understanding? For never expecting more than I can give? He didn’t have the right words. He could write a book on all the things he wanted to thank Dean Winchester for. “Thank you for all of this.”

Dean stood, helped Cas to his feet, gathered their things, and took Cas’ hand. This was a new thing, too— holding hands. New, but not unwelcome. Comfortable, Cas supposed, so he kept hold of it as Dean returned the rope to Benny and bid their farewells. And then, hand in hand, and Dean walked out to the waiting Chevy Impala. 

When Cas opened the passenger-side door, he grinned fondly at the thorny red rose and chocolate bar lying on the seat. “Did you forget to bring it in?”

Dean shrugged, hiding a smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I just figured you’d want it out here, away from. You know. Everybody.”

“Thank you, Dean.” He pressed his nose to the bloom of the flower and inhaled as he held the stem nimbly between his thumb and forefinger, avoiding the thorns… for now.

Just before he started the engine and shifted into drive, Dean gave Cas another kiss, so angel soft it was barely a kiss at all. 

It buzzed on Castiel’s lips the whole ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Thanks for joining me along on this ride, and remember, comments and kudos feed a writer's soul. :)


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